•• 


LIBRARY 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE 
GRASSHOPPER 


BOOKS  BY  J.   HENRI  FABRE 


THE   LIFE    OF  THE   SPIDER 
THE  LIFE   OF   THE   FLY 

THE   MASON-BEES 
BRAMBLE-BEES   AND    OTHERS 

THE   HUNTING   WASPS 
THE  LIFE  OF  THE  CATERPILLAR 
THE  LIFE  OF  THE  GRASSHOPPER 


THE   LIFE    OF    THE 
GRASSHOPPER 


BY 


J.   HENRI  FABRE 


TRANSLATED  BY 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 

FELLOW  OF  THE  ZOOLOGICAL  SOCIETY   OF  LONDON 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1917 


</     ijsffi-I  —^ 


COPYRIGHT,  1917 
BY  DODU,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE     .       .       .  vii 

CHAPTER 

I     THE  FABLE  OF  THE  CICADA  AND 

THE  ANT          ....  I 

II     THE      CICADA:     LEAVING      THE 

BURROW  ....          25 

III  THE  CICADA  :  THE  TRANSFORMA- 

TION          42 

IV  THE  CICADA :  HIS  MUSIC      .  .          58 

V     THE  CICADA :  THE  LAYING  AND 

THE  HATCHING  OF  THE  EGGS         82 

VI  THE  MANTIS  :  HER  HUNTING       .       113 

VII  THE  MANTIS  :  HER  LOVE-MAKING       137 

VIII  THE  MANTIS :  HER  NEST       .  -147 

IX  THE  MANTIS  :  HER  HATCHING    .        170 

X  THE  EMPUSA       .  .  .  .        IQI 

XI     THE     WHITE-FACED     DECTICUS : 

HIS  HABITS  211 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XII  THE  WHITE-FACED  DECTICUS : 
THE  LAYING  AND  THE  HATCH- 
ING OF  THE  EGGS  .  .  .231 

XIII  THE     WHITE-FACED     DECTICUS: 

THE  INSTRUMENT  OF  SOUND  .       246 

XIV  THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  .       275 

XV     THE    CRICKET:    THE    BURROW; 

THE  EGG  ....       300 

XVI     THE  CRICKET:   THE  SONG;  THE 

PAIRING  .  .  .  -327 

XVII     THE     LOCUSTS:     THEIR     FUNC- 
TION ;  THEIR  ORGAN  OF  SOUND      354 

XVIII     THE  LOCUSTS :  THEIR  EGGS  .  378 

XIX    THE  LOCUSTS  :  THE  LAST  MOULT  401 

XX    THE  FOAMY  CICADELLA      .  .  424 

INDEX         ......  447 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

I  HAVE  ventured  in  the  present  volume 
to  gather  together,  under  the  somewhat 
loose  and  inaccurate  title  of  The  Life  of  the 
Grasshopper,  the  essays  scattered  over  the 
Souvenirs  entomologiques  that  treat  of 
Grasshoppers,  Crickets,  Locusts  and  such  in- 
sects as  the  Cicada,  or  Cigale,  the  Mantis 
and  the  Cuckoo-spit,  or,  to  adopt  the  author's 
happier  and  more  euphonious  term,  the 
Foamy  Cicadella.  They  exhaust  the  num- 
ber of  the  orthopterous  and  homopterous 
insects  discussed  by  Henri  Fabre. 

Chapters  I.  to  VIII.,  XV.,  XVI.  and  XIX. 
have  already  appeared,  in  certain  cases  under 
different  titles  and  partly  in  an  abbreviated 
form,  in  an  interesting  miscellany  extracted 
from  the  Souvenirs,  translated  by  Mr.  Ber- 
nard Miall  and  published  by  the  Century 
Company.  This  volume,  Social  Life  in  the 
Insect  World,  is  illustrated  with  admirable 
photographs  of  insects,  taken  from  life,  and 
deserves  a  prominent  place  on  the  shelves  of 
every  lover  of  Fabre's  works. 


Translator's  Note 

At  the  moment  of  writing,  the  only  one 
of  the  following  essays  that  has  been  pub- 
lished before,  in  my  translation,  is  the  first 
of  the  three  describing  the  White-faced 
Decticus,  which  appeared,  in  the  summer  of 
last  year,  in  the  English  Review. 

Miss  Frances  Rodwell  has  again  lent  me 
the  most  valuable  assistance  in  preparing  this 
volume;  and  I  am  indebted  also  to  Mr. 
Osman  Edwards  and  Mr.  Stephen  McKenna 
for  their  graceful  rhymed  versions  of  the  oc- 
casional lyrics  that  adorn  it. 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS. 

CHELSEA,  1917. 


viii 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   FABLE  OF  THE  CICADA  AND  THE  ANT 

Tj^AME  is  built  up  mainly  of  legend;  in  the 
*?  animal  world,  as  in  the  world  of  men, 
the  story  takes  precedence  of  history.  In- 
sects in  particular,  whether  they  attract  our 
attention  in  this  way  or  in  that,  have  their 
fair  share  in  a  folk-lore  which  pays  but  little 
regard  to  truth. 

For  instance,  who  does  not  know  the 
Cicada,  at  least  by  name?  Where,  in  the 
entomological  world,  can  we  find  a  renown 
that  equals  hers?  Her  reputation  as  an 
inveterate  singer,  who  takes  no  thought  for 
the  future,  has  formed  a  subject  for  our 
earliest  exercises  in  repetition.  In  verses 
that  are  very  easily  learnt,  she  is  shown  to 
us,  when  the  bitter  winds  begin  to  blow, 
quite  destitute  and  hurrying  to  her  neigh- 
bour, the  Ant,  to  announce  tyer  hunger. 
The  would-be  borrower  meets  with  a  poor 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

welcome  and  with  a  reply  which  has  re- 
mained proverbial  and  is  the  chief  cause 
of  the  little  creature's  fame.  Those  two 
short  lines, 


Vous  chantiezf    J'en  suis  bien  en  aise. 
Eh  bien,  dansez  maintenant,1 

with  their  petty  malice,  have  done  more  for 
the  Cicada's  celebrity  than  all  her  talent  as 
a  musician.  They  enter  the  child's  mind  like 
a  wedge  and  never  leave  it. 

To  most  of  us,  the  Cicada's  song  is  un- 
known, for  she  dwells  in  the  land  of  the 
olive-trees;  but  we  all,  big  and  little,  have 
heard  of  the  snub  which  she  received  from 
the  Ant.  See  how  reputations  are  made !  A 
story  of  very  doubtful  value,  offending  as 
much  against  morality  as  against  natural 
history;  a  nursery-tale  whose  only  merit  lies 
in  its  brevity:  there  we  have  the  origin  of 
a  renown  which  will  tower  over  the  ruins  of 
the  centuries  like  Hop-o'-my-Thumb's  boots 
and  Little  Red-Riding-Hood's  basket. 

*You  used  to  sing!     I'm  glad  to  know  it. 
Well,  try  dancing  for  a  change! 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

The  child  is  essentially  conservative.  Cus- 
tom and  traditions  become  indestructible 
once  they  are  confided  to  the  archives  of  his 
memory.  We  owe  to  him  the  celebrity  of 
the  Cicada,  whose  woes  he  stammered  in  his 
first  attempts  at  recitation.  He  preserves 
for  us  the  glaring  absurdities  that  are  part 
and  parcel  of  the  fable:  the  Cicada  will 
always  be  hungry  when  the  cold  comes, 
though  there  are  no  Cicadas  left  in  the 
winter;  she  will  always  beg  for  the  alms  of 
a  few  grains  of  wheat,  a  food  quite  out  of 
keeping  with  her  delicate  sucker;  the  sup- 
plicant is  supposed  to  hunt  for  Flies  and 
grubs,  she  who  never  eats ! 

Whom  are  we  to  hold  responsible  for 
these  curious  blunders?  La  Fontaine,1  who 
charms  us  in  most  of  his  fables  with  his 
exquisite  delicacy  of  observation,  is  very  ill- 
inspired  in  this  case.  He  knows  thoroughly 
his  common  subjects,  the  Fox,  the  Wolf,  the 
Cat,  the  Goat,  the  Crow,  the  Rat,  the 
Weasel  and  many  others,  whose  sayings  and 
doings  he  describes  to  us  with  delightful 
precision  of  detail.  They  are  local  char- 
acters, neighbours,  housemates  of  his.  Their 

'Jean  de  La  Fontaine   (1621-1695),  the  author  of  the 
world-famous   Fables. — Translator's   Note. 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

public  and  private  life  is  spent  under  his  eyes ; 
but,  where  Jack  Rabbit  gambols,  the  Cicada 
is  an  entire  stranger:  La  Fontaine  never 
heard  of  her,  never  saw  her.  To  him 
the  famous  singer  is  undoubtedly  a  Grass- 
hopper. 

Grandville,1  whose  drawings  have  the 
same  delicious  spice  of  malice  as  the  text 
itself,  falls  into  the  same  error.  In  his  illus- 
tration, we  see  the  Ant  arrayed  like  an 
industrious  housewife.  Standing  on  her 
threshold,  beside  great  sacks  of  wheat,  she 
turns  a  contemptuous  back  on  the  borrower, 
who  is  holding  out  her  foot,  I  beg  pardon, 
her  hand.  The  second  figure  wears  a  great 
cartwheel  hat,  with  a  guitar  under  her  arm 
and  her  skirt  plastered  to  her  legs  by  the 
wind,  and  is  the  perfect  picture  of  a  Grass- 
hopper. Grandville  no  more  than  La  Fon- 
taine suspected  the  real  appearance  of  the 
Cicada;  he  reproduced  magnificently  the 
general  mistake. 

For  the  rest,  La  Fontaine,  in  his  poor 

'Jean  Ignace  Isidore  Gerard  (1803-1847),  better 
known  by  his  pseudonym  of  Grandville,  a  famous  French 
caricaturist  and  illustrator  of  La  Fontaine's  Fables, 
Be>anger's  Chansons  and  the  standard  French  editions 
of  Robinson  Crusoe  and  Gulliver's  Travels.— Trans- 
lator's Note. 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

little  story,  only  echoes  another  fabulist. 
The  legend  of  the  Cicada's  sorry  welcome 
by  the  Ant  is  as  old  as  selfishness,  that  is  to 
say,  as  old  as  the  world.  The  children  of 
Athens,  going  to  school  with  their  esparto- 
grass  baskets  crammed  with  figs  and  olives, 
were  already  mumbling  it  as  a  piece  for 
recitation : 

"  In  winter,"  said  they,  "  the  Ants  dry 
their  wet  provisions  in  the  sun.  Up  comes  a 
hungry  Cicada  begging.  She  asks  for  a  few 
grains.  The  greedy  hoarders  reply,  *  You 
used  to  sing  in  summer;  now  dance  in  win- 
ter.' "  1 

This,  although  a  little  more  baldly  put,  is 
precisely  La  Fontaine's  theme  and  is  con- 
trary to  all  sound  knowledge. 


1  Sir  Roger  L'Estrange  attributes  the  fable  to  Anianus 
and,  as  is  usual  in  the  English  version,  substitutes  the 
Grasshopper  for  the  Cicada.  It  may  be  interesting  to 
quote  his  translation: 

"As  the  Ants  were  airing  their  provisions  one  winter, 
up  comes  a  hungry  Grasshopper  to  'em  and  begs  a 
charity.  They  told  him  that  he  should  have  wrought  in 
summer,  if  he  would  not  have  wanted  in  winter. 
'  Well,'  says  the  Grasshopper,  '  but  I  was  not  idle 
neither ;  for  I  sung  out  the  whole  season.'  '  Nay  then,' 
said  they,  'you  shall  e'en  do  well  to  make  a  merry  year 
on't  and  dance  in  winter  to  the  tune  that  you  sung  in 
summer.'  " — Translator's  Note. 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Nevertheless  the  fable  comes  to  us  from 
Greece,  which  is  preeminently  the  land  of 
olive-trees  and  Cicadae.  Was  ^Esop  really 
the  author,  as  tradition  pretends?  It  is 
doubtful.  Nor  does  it  matter,  after  all :  the 
narrator  is  a  Greek  and  a  fellow-countryman 
of  the  Cicada,  whom  he  must  know  well 
enough.  My  village  does  not  contain  a 
peasant  so  ignorant  as  to  be  unaware  of  the 
absolute  lack  of  Cicadae  in  winter;  every 
tiller  of  the  soil  is  familiar  with  the  insect's 
primary  state,  the  larva,  which  he  turns  over 
with  his  spade  as  often  as  he  has  occasion  to 
bank  up  the  olive-trees  at  the  approach  of 
the  cold  weather;  he  knows,  from  seeing  it 
a  thousand  times  along  the  paths,  how  this 
grub  leaves  the  ground  through  a  round  pit 
of  its  own  making,  how  it  fastens  on  to  some 
twig,  splits  its  back,  divests  itself  of  its  skin, 
now  drier  than  shrivelled  parchment,  and 
turns  into  the  Cicada,  pale  grass-green  at 
first,  soon  to  be  succeeded  by  brown. 

The  Attic  peasant  was  no  fool  either :  he 
had  remarked  that  which  cannot  escape  the 
least  observant  eye;  he  also  knew  what  my 
rustic  neighbours  know  so  well.  The  poet, 
whoever  he  may  have  been,  who  invented 
the  fable  was  writing  under  the  best  con- 
6 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

ditions  for  knowing  all  about  these  things. 
Then  whence  did  the  blunders  in  his  story 
arise? 

The  Greek  fabulist  had  less  excuse  than 
La  Fontaine  for  portraying  the  Cicada  of 
the  books  instead  of  going  to  the  actual 
Cicada,  whose  cymbals  were  echoing  at  his 
side;  heedless  of  the  real,  he  followed  tradi- 
tion. He  himself  was  but  echoing  a  more 
ancient  scribe;  he  was  repeating  some  legend 
handed  down  from  India,  the  venerable 
mother  of  civilizations.  Without  knowing 
exactly  the  story  which  the  Hindu's  reed  had 
put  in  writing  to  show  the  danger  of  a  life 
led  without  foresight,  we  are  entitled  to  be- 
lieve that  the  little  dialogue  set  down  was 
nearer  to  the  truth  than  the  conversation 
between  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant.  India,  the 
great  lover  of  animals,  was  incapable  of 
committing  such  a  mistake.  Everything 
seems  to  tell  us  that  the  leading  figure  in  the 
original  fable  was  not  our  Cicada  but  rather 
some  other  creature,  an  insect  if  you  will, 
whose  habits  corresponded  fittingly  with 
the  text  adopted. 

Imported  into  Greece,  after  serving  for 
centuries  to  make  the  wise  reflect  and  to 
amuse  the  children  on  the  banks  of  the 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Indus,  the  ancient  story,  perhaps  as  old  as 
the  first  piece  of  economical  advice  vouch- 
safed by  Paterfamilias  and  handed  down 
more  or  less  faithfully  from  memory  to 
memory,  must  have  undergone  an  alteration 
in  its  details,  as  do  all  legends  which  the 
course  of  the  ages  adapts  to  circumstances 
of  time  and  place. 

The  Greek,  not  possessing  in  his  fields  the 
insect  of  which  the  Hindu  spoke,  dragged 
in,  as  the  nearest  thing  to  it,  the  Cicada, 
even  as  in  Paris,  the  modern  Athens,  the 
Cicada  is  replaced  by  the  Grasshopper.  The 
mischief  was  done.  Henceforth  ineradica- 
ble, since  it  has  been  confided  to  the  memory 
of  childhood,  the  mistake  will  prevail  against 
an  obvious  truth. 

Let  us  try  to  rehabilitate  the  singer  slan- 
dered by  the  fable.  He  is,  I  hasten  to 
admit,  an  importunate  neighbour.  Every 
summer  he  comes  and  settles  in  his  hundreds 
outside  my  door,  attracted  by  the  greenery 
of  two  tall  plane-trees;  and  here,  from  sun- 
rise to  sunset,  the  rasping  of  his  harsh 
symphony  goes  through  my  head.  Amid  this 
deafening  concert,  thought  is  impossible; 
one's  ideas  reel  and  whirl,  are  incapable  of 
concentrating.  When  I  have  not  profited  by 
8 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

the  early  hours  of  the  morning,  my  day  is 
lost. 

Oh,  little  demon,  plague  of  my  dwelling 
which  I  should  like  to  have  so  peaceful,  they 
say  that  the  Athenians  used  to  rear  you  in 
a  cage  to  enjoy  your  singing  at  their  ease! 
One  we  could  do  with,  perhaps,  during  the 
drowsy  hour  of  digestion;  but  hundreds  at 
a  time,  all  rattling  and  drumming  in  our  ears 
when  we  are  trying  to  collect  our  thoughts, 
that  is  sheer  torture !  You  say  that  you  were 
here  first,  do  you?  Before  I  came,  you  were 
in  undisputed  possession  of  the  two  plane- 
trees;  and  it  is  I  who  am  the  intruder  there. 
I  agree.  Nevertheless,  muffle  your  drums, 
moderate  your  arpeggios,  for  the  sake  of 
your  biographer ! 

Truth  will  have  none  of  the  absurd  rig- 
marole which  we  find  in  the  fable.  That 
there  are  sometimes  relations  between  the 
Cicada  and  the  Ant  is  most  certain;  only, 
these  relations  are  the  converse  of  what 
we  are  told.  They  are  not  made  on  the 
initiative  of  the  Cicada,  who  is  never  de- 
pendent on  the  aid  of  others  for  his  living; 
they  come  from  the  Ant,  a  greedy  spoiler, 
who  monopolizes  every  edible  thing  for  her 
granaries.  At  no  time  does  the  .Cicada  go 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

crying  famine  at  the  doors  of  the  Ant-hills, 
promising  honestly  to  repay  principal  and 
interest;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  Ant  who, 
driven  by  hunger,  begs  and  entreats  the 
singer.  Entreats,  do  I  say?  Borrowing  and 
repaying  form  no  part  of  the  pillager's 
habits.  She  despoils  the  Cicada,  brazenly 
robs  him  of  his  possessions.  Let  us  describe 
this  theft,  a  curious  point  in  natural  history 
and,  as  yet,  unknown. 

In  July,  during  the  stifling  heat  of  the 
afternoon,  when  the  insect  populace,  parched 
with  thirst,  vainly  wanders  around  the  limp 
and  withered  flowers  in  search  of  refresh- 
ment, the  Cicada  laughs  at  the  general  need. 
With  that  delicate  gimlet,  his  rostrum,  he 
broaches  a  cask  in  his  inexhaustible  cellar. 
Sitting,  always  singing,  on  the  branch  of  a 
shrub,  he  bores  through  the  firm,  smooth 
bark  swollen  with  sap  ripened  by  the  sun. 
Driving  his  sucker  through  the  bung-hole,  he 
drinks  luxuriously,  motionless  and  rapt  in 
contemplation,  absorbed  in  the  charms  of 
syrup  and  song. 

Watch    him    for    a    little    while.     We 

shall  perhaps  witness  unexpected  tribulation. 

There    are    many    thirsty    ones    prowling 

around,  in  fact;  they  discover  the  well  be- 

10 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

trayed  by  the  sap  that  oozes  from  the 
margin.  They  hasten  up,  at  first  with  some 
discretion,  confining  themselves  to  licking  the 
fluid  as  it  exudes.  I  see  gathering  around 
the  mellifluous  puncture  Wasps,  Flies,  Ear- 
wigs, Sphex-wasps,1  Pompili,2  Rose-chafers  a 
and,  above  all,  Ants. 

The  smallest,  in  order  to  reach  the  well, 
slip  under  the  abdomen  of  the  Cicada,  who 
good-naturedly  raises  himself  on  his  legs 
and  leaves  a  free  passage  for  the  intruders; 
the  larger  ones,  unable  to  stand  still  for  im- 
patience, quickly  snatch  a  sip,  retreat,  take  a 
walk  on  the  neighbouring  branches  and  then 
return  and  show  greater  enterprise.  The 
coveting  becomes  more  eager;  the  discreet 
ones  of  a  moment  ago  develop  into  turbulent 
aggressors,  ready  to  chase  away  from  the 
spring  the  well-sinker  who  caused  it  to  gush 
forth. 

In  this  brigandage,   the  worst  offenders 

1  Cf.  The  Hunting  Wasps,  by  J.  Henri  Fabre,  trans- 
lated by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  chaps,  iv.  to  x. 
— Translator's  Note. 

1  For  the  Pompilus-wasp,  or  Ringed  Calicurgus,  cf. 
The  Life  and  Love  of  the  Insect,  by  J.  Henri  Fabre, 
translated  by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  chap.  xii. 
— Translator's  Note. 

*  For  the  grub  of  the  Rose-chafer,  or  Cetonia,  cf.  The 
Life  and  Love  of  the  Insect:  chap.  xi. — Translator's 
Note. 

R 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

are  the  Ants.  I  have  seen  them  nibbling  at 
the  ends  of  the  Cicada's  legs;  I  have  caught 
them  tugging  at  the  tips  of  his  wings, 
climbing  on  his  back,  tickling  his  antennae. 
One,  greatly  daring,  went  to  the  length,  be- 
fore my  eyes,  of  catching  hold  of  his  sucker 
and  trying  to  pull  it  out. 

Thus  worried  by  these  pigmies  and  losing 
all  patience,  the  giant  ends  by  abandoning 
the  well.  He  flees,  spraying  the  robbers 
with  his  urine  as  he  goes.  What  cares  the 
Ant  for  this  expression  of  supreme  con- 
tempt! Her  object  is  attained.  She  is  now 
the  mistress  of  the  spring,  which  dries  up 
only  too  soon  when  the  pump  that  made  it 
flow  ceases  to  work.  There  is  little  of  it, 
but  that  little  is  exquisite.  It  is  so  much  to 
the  good,  enabling  her  to  wait  for  another 
draught,  acquired  in  the  same  fashion,  as 
soon  as  the  occasion  presents  itself. 

You  see,  the  actual  facts  entirely  reverse 
the  parts  assigned  in  the  fable.  The  hard- 
ened beggar,  who  does  not  shrink  from 
theft,  is  the  Ant;  the  industrious  artisan, 
gladly  sharing  his  possessions  with  the  suf- 
ferer, is  the  Cicada.  I  will  mention  one 
more  detail;  and  the  reversal  of  characters 
will  stand  out  even  more  clearly.  After  five 

12 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

or  six  weeks  of  wassail,  which  is  a  long  space 
of  time,  the  singer,  exhausted  by  the  strain 
of  life,  drops  from  the  tree.  The  sun  dries 
up  the  body;  the  feet  of  the  passers-by  crush 
it.  The  Ant,  always  a  highway-robber  in 
search  of  spoil,  comes  upon  it.  She  cuts  up 
the  rich  dish,  dissects  it,  carves  it  and  reduces 
it  to  morsels  which  go  to  swell  her  hoard  of 
provisions.  It  is  not  unusual  to  see  a  dying 
Cicada,  with  his  wing  still  quivering  in  the 
dust,  drawn  and  quartered  by  a  gang  of 
knackers.  He  is  quite  black  with  them. 
After  this  cannibalistic  proceeding,  there  is 
no  question  as  to  the  true  relations  between 
the  two  insects. 

The  ancients  held  the  Cicada  in  high 
favour.  Anacreon,  the  Greek  Beranger,1  de- 
voted an  ode  to  singing  his  praises  in  curi- 
ously exaggerated  language : 

"  Thou  art  almost  like  unto  the  gods," 
says  he. 

The  reasons  which  he  gives  for  this 
apotheosis  are  none  of  the  best.  They  con- 
sist of  these  three  privileges :  yyysvi??,  ana- 
Bris,  avai^offapHf^  earthborn,  insensible  to 
pain,  bloodless.  Let  us  not  start  reproaching 

1  Pierre   Jean    de   Beranger    (1780-1857),    the    popular 
French  lyric  poet. — Translator's  Note, 

13 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  poet  for  these  blunders,  which  were  ge- 
nerally believed  at  the  time  and  perpetuated 
for  very  long  after,  until  the  observer's 
searching  eyes  were  opened.  Besides,  it 
does  not  do  to  look  so  closely  at  verses  whose 
chief  merit  lies  in  harmony  and  rhythm. 

Even  in  our  own  days,  the  Provengal 
poets,  who  are  at  least  as  familiar  with  the 
Cicada  as  Anacreon  was,  are  not  so  very 
careful  of  the  truth  in  celebrating  the  insect 
which  they  take  as  an  emblem.  One  of  my 
friends,  a  fervent  observer  and  a  scrupulous 
realist,  escapes  this  reproach.  He  has 
authorized  me  to  take  from  his  unpublished 
verse  the  following  Provengal  ballad,  which 
depicts  the  relations  between  the  Cicada  and 
the  Ant  with  strictly  scientific  accuracy.  I 
leave  to  him  the  responsibility  for  his  poetic 
images  and  his  moral  views,  delicate  flowers 
outside  my  province  as  a  naturalist;  but  I 
can  vouch  for  the  truth  of  his  story,  which 
tallies  with  what  I  see  every  summer  on  the 
lilac-trees  in  my  garden. 


LA  ClGALO  E  LA  FOURNIGO 


Jour  de  Dieu,  queto  caud!    Ben  terns  per  la 

cigalo 

Que,  trefoulido,  se  regalo 
D'uno  raisso  de  fid;  beu  terns  per  la  meissoun. 

Dins  Us  erso  d'or,  lou  segaire, 
Ren  plega,  pltre  au  vent,  rustico   e  canto 

gaire : 
Dins  soun  gousie,  la  set  estranglo  la  cansoun. 

Terns  benesi  per  tu.    Dounc,  ardit!  cigaleto, 

Fai-lei  brusi,  ti  chimbaleto, 
E  brandusso  lou  ventre  a  creba  ti  mirau. 

L'Ome  enterin  mando  la  daio, 
Que  vai  balin-balan  de  longo  e  que  dardaio 
L'uiau  de  soun  acie  sus  li  rous  espigau. 

Plen  d'aigo  per  la  peiro  e  tampouna  d'erbiho 

Lou  coufie  sus  I'anco  pendiho. 
Se  la  peiro  es  au  fres  dins  soun  estui  de  bos 

E  se  de  longo  es  abeurado, 
L'Ome  barbelo  au  fid  d'aqueli  souleiado 
Que  fan  bouli  de  fes  la  mesoulo  dis  os. 
15 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Tu,  Cigalo,  as  un  biais  per  la  set:  dins  la 
rusco 

Tendro  e  jutouso  d'uno  busco, 
L'aguio  de  toun  be  cabusso  e  cavo  un  pous. 

Lou  siro  monto  per  la  draw. 
T'amourres  a  la  fon  melicouso  que  raw, 
E  dou  sourgent  sucra  beves  lou  teta-dous. 

Mai  pas  toujour  en  pas,  oh!  que  nani:  de 

laire, 

Fesin,  vesino  o  barrulaire, 
T'an  vist  cava  lou  pous.     An  set;  venon, 

doulent, 

Te  prene  un  degout  per  si  tasso. 
Mesfiso-te,  ma  hello:  aqueli  curo-biasso, 
Umble  d'abord,  soun  leu  de  gusas  insoulent. 

Quiston  un  chicouloun  de  ren;  piei  de  ti  resto 
Soun  plus  countent,  ausson  la  testo 

E  volon    tout.     L'auran.     Sis    arpioun    en 

rasteu 
Te  gatihoun  lou  bout  de  I'alo. 

Sus  ta  larjo  esquinasso  es  un  mounto-davalo  • 

T'aganton  per  lou  be,  li  bano,  Us  arteu; 

Tiron  d'eici,  d'eila.    L'impacienci  te  gagno. 

Pst!  pst!  d'un  giscle  de  pissagno 
^Asperges  I'assemblado  e  quites  lou  rameu. 

T'en  vas  ben  liuen  de  la  racaio, 
16 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

Que  t*a  rauba  lou  pous,  e  ris,  e  se  gougaio, 
E  se  lipo  li  brego  enviscado  de  men. 

Or  d'aqueli  boumian  abeura  sens  fatigo, 

Lou  mai  tihous  es  la  fournigo. 
Mousco,  cabrian,  guespo  e  tavan  embana, 

Espeloufi  de  touto  meno, 
Costo-en-long   qu'a   toun  pous  lou  souleias 

ameno, 
N'an  pas  soun  testardige  a  te  faire  enana. 

Per  t'esquicha  I'arteu,  te  coutiga  lou  mourre, 

Te  pessuga  lou  nas,  per  courre 
A  I'oumbro  de  toun  venire,  oscof  degun  la 
vau. 

Lou  marrit-peu  prend  per  escalo 
Uno  patto  e  te  monto,  or  dido,  sus  Us  alo, 
E  s'espasso,  insoulento,  e  vai  d'amont,  d'avau. 


II 


Aro  veici  qu'es  pas  de  creire. 
Ancian  terns,  nous  dison  li  reire, 
Un  jour  d'iver,   la  fam   te   prengue.    Lou 

front  has 

E  d'escoundoun  aneres  veire, 
Dins  si  grand  magasin,  la  fournigo,  eilabas. 
17 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Uendrudido  au  souleu  secavo, 
Avans  de  Us  escoundre  en  cavo, 

Si  blad  qu'avie  mousi  I'eigagno  de  la  niue. 
Quand  eron  lest  Us  ensacavo. 

Tu  survenes  alor,  erne  de  plour  is  me. 

le  dish:  " Fai  ben  fre;  I'aurasso 
"  D'un  caire  a  I'autre  me  tirasso 

"  Avanido  de  fam.     A  toun  riche  mouloun 
"  Leisso-me  prene  per  ma  biasso. 

"  Te    lou    rendrai   segur   au    beu    terns    di 
meloun. 

"  Presto-me  un  pan  de  gran."    Mai,  bouto, 

Se  creses  que  I'autro,  t'escouto, 
T'enganes.    Di  gros  sa,  ren  de  ren  sara  tieu. 

"  Fai-t?en  plus  liuen  rascia  de  bouto; 
"  Crebo  de  fam  I'iver,  tu  que  cantes  Vestieu" 

Ansin  charro  la  fablo  antico 

Per  nous  counseia  la  pratico 
Di  sarro-piastro,  urous  de  nousa  li  courdoun 

De  si  bourso. — Que  la  coulico 
Rousigue  la  tripaio  en  aqueli  coudoun! 

Me  fai  susa,  lou  fabulisto, 
Quand  dis  que  I'iver  vas  en  quisto 

18 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

De   mousco,   verme,   gran,   tu   que   manges 

jamai. 

De  blad!    Que  n'en  faries,  ma  fistof 
As  ta  fon  melicouso  e  demandes  ren  mai. 

Que  t'enchau  I'iverf    Ta  famiho 

A  la  sousto  en  terro  soumiho, 
E  tu  dormes  la  som  que  n'a  ges  de  revet; 

Toun  cadabre  toumbo  en  douliho. 
Un  jour,  en  ta  fur  ant,  la  fournigo  lou  vet. 

De  ta  magro  peu  dessecado 

La  marriasso  fai  becado; 
Te  euro  lou  perus,  te  chapouto  a  mouceu, 

T'encafourno  per  car-salado, 
Requisto  prouvisioun,  I'iver,  en  terns  de  neu. 

Ill 

Vaqui  I' is  tori  veritablo 
Ben  liuen  dou  conte  de  la  fablo. 
Que  n'en  pensas,  caneu  de  sort! 
— O  ramaissaire  de  dardeno, 
Det  croucu,  boumbudo  bedeno 
Que  gouvernas  lou  mounde  erne  lou  cof re- 
fort, 

Fases  courre  lou  bru,  canaio, 
Que  I'artisto  jamai  travaio 
19 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

E  deu  pati,  lou  bedlgas. 
Teisas-vous  dounc:  quand  di  lambrusco 
La  Cigalo  a  cava  la  rusco, 
Raubas  soun  beure,  e  piei,  morto,  la  rousigas. 

Thus  speaks  my  friend,  in  his  expressive 
Provencal  tongue,  rehabilitating  the  Cicada, 
who  has  been  so  grossly  libelled  by  the 
fabulist. 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

I  am  indebted  for  the  following  transla- 
tion to  the  felicitous  pen  of  my  friend  Mr. 
Osman  Edwards: 


THE  CICADA  AND  THE  ANT 


Ye  gods,  what  heat !    Cicada  thrills 
With  mad  delight  when  fairy  rills 
Submerge  the  corn  in  waves  of  gold, 
When,  with  bowed  back  and  toil  untold, 
His  blade  the  songless  reaper  plies, 
For  in  dry  throats  song  gasps  and  dies. 

This  hour  is  thine:  then,  loud  and  clear, 
Thy  cymbals  clash,  Cicada  dear, 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

Let  mirrors  crack,  let  belly  writhe ! 
Behold !    The  man  yet  darts  his  scythe, 
Whose  glitter  lifts  and  drops  again 
A  lightning-flash  on  ruddy  grain. 

With  grass  and  water  well  supplied, 
His  whetstone  dangles  at  his  side; 
The  whetstone  in  its  case  of  wood 
Has  moisture  for  each  thirsty  mood; 
But  he,  poor  fellow,  pants  and  moans, 
The  marrow  boiling  in  his  bones. 

Dost  thirst,  Cicada  ?    Never  mind ! 
Deep  in  a  young  bough's  tender  rind 
Thy  sharp  proboscis  bores  a  well, 
Whence,  narrowly,  sweet  juices  swell. 
Ah,  soon  what  honied  joys  are  thine 
To  quaff  a  vintage  so  divine! 

In  peace  ?    Not  always.  .   .  .  There's  a  band 
Of  roving  thieves  (or  close  at  hand) 
Who  watched  thee  draw  the  nectar  up 
And  beg  one  drop  with  doleful  cup. 
Beware,  my  love !    They  humbly  crave ; 
Soon  each  will  prove  a  saucy  knave. 

The  merest  sip? — 'Tis  set  aside. 
What's  left? — They  are  not  satisfied. 
All  must  be  theirs,  who  rudely  fling 
A  rakish  claw  athwart  thy  wing; 
Next  on  thy  back  swarm  up  and  down, 
From  tip  to  toe,  from  tail  to  crown. 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

On  every  side  they  fuss  and  fret, 

Provoking  an  impatient  jet ; 

Thou  leavest  soon  the  sprinkled  rind, 

Its  robber-rascals,  far  behind; 

Thy  well  purloined,  each  grins  and  skips 

And  licks  the  honey  from  her  lips. 

No  tireless,  quenchless  mendicant 

Is  so  persistent  as  the  Ant; 

Wasps,  Beetles,  Hornets,  Drones  and  Flies, 

Sharpers  of  every  sort  and  size, 

Loafers,  intent  on  ousting  thee, 

All  are  less  obstinate  than  she. 

To  pinch  thy  toe,  thy  nose  to  tweak, 
To  tickle  face  and  loins,  to  sneak 
Beneath  thy  belly,  who  so  bold? 
Give  her  the  tiniest  foothold, 
The  slut  will  march  from  side  to  side 
Across  thy  wings  in  shameless  pride. 

II 

Now  here's  a  story  that  is  told, 

Incredible,  by  men  of  old: 

Once  starving  on  a  winter's  day 

By  secret,  miserable  way 

Thou  soughtest  out  the  Ant  and  found 

Her  spacious  warehouse  underground. 

That  rich  possessor  in  the  sun 

Was  busy  drying,  one  by  one, 

Her  treasures,  moist  with  the  night's  dew, 

Before  she  buried  them  from  view 


The  Fable  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Ant 

In  corn-sacks  of  sufficient  size ; 

Then  didst  thou  sue  with  tearful  eyes, 

Saying,  "Alas!     This  deadly  breeze 
"  Pursues  me  everywhere;  I  freeze 
"  With  hunger;  let  me  fill  (no  more!) 
"  My  wallet  from  that  copious  store; 
"  Next  year,  when  melons  are  full-blown, 
"  Be  sure  I  shall  repay  the  loan ! 

"  Lend  me  a  little  corn !  " — Absurd ! 
Of  course  she  will  not  hear  a  word ; 
Thou  wilt  not  win,  for  all  thy  pain, 
From  bulging  sacks  a  single  grain. 
"  Be  off  and  scrape  the  binns!  "  she  cries: 
"  Who  sang  in  June,  in  winter  dies." 

Thus  doth  the  ancient  tail  impart 

Fit  moral  for  a  miser's  heart ; 

Bids  him  all  charity  forget 

And  draw  his  purse-strings  tighter  yet. 

May  colic  chase  such  scurvy  knaves 

With  pangs  internal  to  their  graves! 

A  sorry  fabulist,  indeed, 
Who  fancied  that  the  winter's  need 
Would  drive  thee  to  subsist,  forlorn, 
On  Flies,  on  grubs,  on  grains  of  corn ; 
No  need  was  ever  thine  of  those, 
For  whom  the  honied  fountain  flows. 

What  matters  winter  ?    All  thy  kin 
Beneath  the  earth  are  gathered  in; 
23 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Thou  sleepest  with  unwaking  heart, 
While  the  frail  body  falls  apart 
In  rags  that  unregarded  lie, 
Save  by  the  Ant's  rapacious  eye. 

She,  groping  greedily,  one  day 

Makes  of  thy  shrivelled  corpse  her  prey; 

Dissects  the  trunk,  gnaws  limb  from  limb, 

Concocts,  according  to  her  whim, 

A  salad  such  grim  housewives  know, 

A  tit-bit  saved  for  hours  of  snow. 


Ill 

That,  gentlemen,  is  truly  told, 
Unlike  the  fairy-tale  of  old ; 
But  finds  it  favour  in  his  sight, 
Who  grabs  at  farthings,  day  and  night? 
Pot-bellied,  crooked-fingered,  he 
Would  rule  the  world  with  L.S.D. 

Such  riff-raff  spread  the  vulgar  view 
That  "  artists  are  a  lazy  crew," 
That  "  fools  must  suffer."    Silent  be! 
When  the  Cicada  taps  the  tree, 
You  steal  his  drink ;  when  life  has  fled, 
You  basely  batten  on  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   CICADA:   LEAVING  THE   BURROW 

TO  come  back  to  the  Cicada  after 
Reaumur  x  has  told  the  insect's  story 
would  be  waste  of  time,  save  that  the  di- 
sciple enjoys  an  advantage  unknown  to  the 
master.  The  great  naturalist  received  the 
materials  for  his  work  from  my  part  of 
the  world;  his  subjects  came  by  barge  after 
being  carefully  preserved  in  spirits.  I,  on  the 
other  hand,  live  in  the  Cicada's  company. 
When  July  comes,  he  takes  possession  of  the 
enclosure  right  up  to  the  threshold  of  the 
house.  The  hermitage  is  our  joint  pro- 
perty. I  remain  master  indoors;  but  out  of 
doors  he  is  the  sovereign  lord  and  an  ex- 
tremely noisy  and  abusive  one.  Our  near 
neighbourhood  and  constant  association 

1  Rene  Antoine  Ferchault  de  Reaumur  (1683-1757), 
inventor  of  the  Reaumur  thermometer  and  author  of 
Memoires  pour  servir  a  I'histoire  naturelle  des  insectes. 
— Translator's  Note. 

25 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

have  enabled  me  to  enter  into  certain  details 
of  which  Reaumur  could  not  dream. 

The  first  Cicadae  appear  at  the  time  of 
the  summer  solstice.  Along  the  much- 
trodden  paths  baked  by  the  sun  and  hardened 
by  the  frequent  passage  of  feet  there  open, 
level  with  the  ground,  round  orifices  about 
the  size  of  a  man's  thumb.  These  are  the 
exit-holes  of  the  Cicada-larvae,  who  come  up 
from  the  depths  to  undergo  their  transforma- 
tion on  the  surface.  They  are  more  or  less 
everywhere,  except  in  soil  turned  over  by  the 
plough.  Their  usual  position  is  in  the  driest 
spots,  those  most  exposed  to  the  sun,  espe- 
cially by  the  side  of  the  roads.  Equipped 
with  powerful  tools  to  pass,  if  necessary, 
through  sandstone  and  dried  clay,  the  larva, 
on  leaving  the  earth,  has  a  fancy  for  the 
hardest  places. 

One  of  the  garden-paths,  converted  into  a 
little  inferno  by  the  glare  from  a  wall  facing 
south,  abounds  in  such  exit-holes.  I  proceed, 
in  the  last  days  of  June,  to  examine  these 
recently  abandoned  pits.  The  soil  is  so  hard 
that  I  have  to  take  my  pickaxe  to  tackle  it. 

The  orifices  are  round  and  nearly  an  inch 
in  diameter.  There  is  absolutely  no  rubbish 
around  them,  no  mound  of  earth  thrown  up 
26 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

outside.  This  is  invariably  the  case:  the 
Cicada's  hole  is  never  surmounted  with  a 
mole-hill,  as  are  the  burrows  of  the  Geo- 
trupes,1  or  Dorbeetles,  those  other  sturdy 
excavators.  The  manner  of  working  ac- 
counts for  this  difference.  The  Dung- 
beetle  progresses  from  the  outside  inwards; 
he  commences  his  digging  at  the  mouth  of 
the  well,  which  allows  him  to  ascend  and 
heap  up  on  the  surface  the  material  which 
he  has  extracted.  The  larva  of  the  Cicada, 
on  the  other  hand,  goes  from  the  inside  out- 
wards ;  the  last  thing  that  it  does  is  to  open 
the  exit-door,  which,  remaining  closed  until 
the  very  end  of  the  work,  cannot  be  used  for 
getting  rid  of  the  rubbish.  The  former  goes 
in  and  makes  a  mound  on  the  threshold  of 
the  home;  the  latter  comes  out  and  cannot 
heap  up  anything  on  a  threshold  that  does 
not  yet  exist. 

The  Cicada's  tunnel  runs  to  a  depth  of 
between  fifteen  and  sixteen  inches.  It  is 
cylindrical,  winds  slightly,  according  to  the 
exigencies  of  the  soil,  and  is  always  nearly 
perpendicular,  for  it  is  shorter  to  go  that 
way.  The  passage  is  quite  open  throughout 

*Cf.    The  Life  and  Love   of  the  Insect:   chap,   ix.— 
Translator's  Note. 

27 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

its  length.  It  is  useless  to  search  for  the  rub- 
bish which  this  excavation  ought,  one  would 
think,  to  produce;  we  see  none  anywhere. 
The  tunnel  ends  in  a  blind  alley,  in  a  rather 
wider  chamber,  with  level  walls  and  not  the 
least  vestige  of  communication  with  any 
gallery  prolonging  the  well. 

Reckoned  by  its  length  and  its  diameter, 
the  excavation  represents  a  volume  of  about 
twelve  cubic  inches.  What  has  become  of 
the  earth  removed?  Sunk  in  very  dry  and 
very  loose  soil,  the  well  and  the  chamber  at 
the  bottom  ought  to  have  crumbly  walls, 
which  would  easily  fall  in,  if  nothing  else 
had  taken  place  but  the  work  of  boring.  My 
surprise  was  great  to  find,  on  the  contrary, 
coated  surfaces,  washed  with  a  paste  of 
clayey  earth.  They  are  not  by  a  long  way 
what  one  could  call  smooth,  but  at  any  rate 
their  irregularities  are  covered  with  a  layer 
of  plaster;  and  their  slippery  materials, 
soaked  with  some  agglutinant,  are  kept  in 
position. 

The  larva  can  move  about  and  climb 
nearly  up  to  the  surface  and  down  again  to 
its  refuge  at  the  bottom  without  producing, 
with  its  clawed  legs,  landslips  which  would 
block  the  tube,  making  ascent  difficult  and 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

retreat  impossible.  The  miner  shores  up  his 
galleries  with  pit-props  and  cross-beams ;  the 
builder  of  underground  railways  strengthens 
his  tunnels  with  a  casing  of  brickwork;  the 
Cicada's  larva,  which  is  quite  as  clever  an 
engineer,  cements  its  shaft  so  as  to  keep  it 
open  however  long  it  may  have  to  serve. 

If  I  surprise  the  creature  at  the  moment 
when  it  emerges  from  the  soil  to  make  for 
a  neighbouring  branch  and  there  undergo  its 
transformation,  I  see  it  at  once  beat  a 
prudent  retreat  and,  without  the  slightest 
difficulty,  run  down  again  to  the  bottom  of 
its  gallery,  proving  that,  even  when  the  dwell- 
ing is  on  the  point  of  being  abandoned  for 
good,  it  does  not  become  blocked  with  earth. 

The  ascending-shaft  is  not  a  piece  of  work 
improvised  in  a  hurry,  in  the  insect's  im- 
patience to  reach  the  sunlight;  it  is  a  regular 
manor-house,  an  abode  in  which  the  grub  is 
meant  to  make  a  long  stay.  So  the  plastered 
walls  tell  us.  Any  such  precaution  would  be 
superfluous  in  the  case  of  a  mere  exit  aban- 
doned as  soon  as  bored.  There  is  not  a 
doubt  but  that  we  have  here  a  sort  of 
meteorological  station  in  which  observations 
are  taken  of  the  weather  outside.  Under- 
ground, fifteen  inches  down,  or  more,  the 
29 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

larva  ripe  for  its  emergence  is  hardly  able  to 
judge  whether  the  climatic  conditions  be 
favourable.  Its  subterranean  weather  is  too 
gradual  in  its  changes  to  be  able  to  supply 
it  with  the  precise  indications  necessary  for 
the  most  important  action  of  its  life,  its  es- 
cape into  the  sunlight  for  the  metamorphosis. 

Patiently,  for  weeks,  perhaps  for  months, 
it  digs,  clears  and  strengthens  a  perpendi- 
cular chimney,  leaving  at  the  surface,  to  keep 
it  sequestered  from  the  world  without,  a 
layer  as  thick  as  one's  finger.  At  the  bottom 
it  makes  itself  a  recess  more  carefully  built 
than  the  remainder.  This  is  its  refuge,  its 
waiting-room,  where  it  rests  if  its  recon- 
noitring lead  it  to  defer  its  emigration.  At 
the  least  suspicion  of  fine  weather,  it  scram- 
bles up,  tests  the  exterior  through  the  thin 
layer  of  earth  forming  a  lid  and  enquires  into 
the  temperature  and  the  degree  of  humidity 
of  the  air. 

If  things  do  not  bode  well,  if  a  heavy 
shower  threaten  or  a  blustering  storm — 
events  of  supreme  importance  when  the  de- 
licate Cicada  throws  off  her  skin — the  pru- 
dent insect  slips  back  to  the  bottom  of  the 
tube  and  goes  on  waiting.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  atmospheric  conditions  be  favour- 
so 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

able,  then  the  ceiling  is  smashed  with  a  few 
strokes  of  the  claws  and  the  larva  emerges 
from  the  well. 

Everything  seems  to  confirm  that  the 
Cicada's  gallery  is  a  waiting-room,  a  me- 
teorological station  where  the  larva  stays  for 
a  long  time,  now  hoisting  itself  near  the  sur- 
face to  discover  the  state  of  the  weather, 
now  retreating  to  the  depths  for  better 
shelter.  This  explains  the  convenience  of  a 
resting-place  at  the  base  and  the  need  for  a 
strong  cement  on  walls  which,  without  it, 
would  certainly  give  way  under  continual 
comings  and  goings. 

What  is  not  so  easily  explained  is  the  com- 
plete disappearance  of  the  rubbish  corre- 
sponding with  the  space  excavated.  What 
has  become  of  the  twelve  cubic  inches  df 
earth  yielded  by  an  average  well?  There  is 
nothing  outside  to  represent  them,  nor  any- 
thing inside  either.  And  then  how,  in  a  soil 
dry  as  cinders,  is  the  plaster  obtained  with 
which  the  walls  are  glazed? 

Larvae  that  gnaw  into  wood,  such  as 
those  of  the  Capricorn  and  the  Buprestes,1 

1  The  Capricorn,  or  Cerambyx-beetle,  lives  in  oak-trees; 
the  Buprestis-beetles  are  found  mostly  in  felled  timber. 
— Translator's  Note. 

31 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

for  instance,  ought  to  be  able  to  answer  the 
first  question.  They  make  their  way  inside 
a  tree-trunk,  boring  galleries  by  eating  the 
materials  of  the  road  which  they  open.  De- 
tached in  tiny  fragments  by  the  mandibles, 
these  materials  are  digested.  They  pass 
through  the  pioneer's  body  from  end  to  end, 
yielding  up  their  meagre  nutritive  elements 
on  the  way,  and  accumulate  behind,  com- 
pletely blocking  the  road  which  the  grub  will 
never  take  again.  The  work  of  excessive 
division  and  subdivision,  done  either  by  the 
mandibles  or  the  stomach,  causes  the  digested 
materials  to  take  up  less  room  than  the  un- 
touched wood;  and  the  result  is  a  space  in 
front  of  the  gallery,  a  chamber  in  which  the 
grub  works,  a  chamber  which  is  greatly  re- 
stricted in  length,  giving  the  prisoner  just 
enough  room  to  move  about. 

Can  it  not  be  in  a  similar  fashion  that  the 
Cicada-grub  bores  its  tunnel?  Certainly  the 
waste  material  flung  up  as  it  digs  its  way 
does  not  pass  through  its  body;  even  if  the 
soil  were  of  the  softest  and  most  yielding 
character,  earth  plays  no  part  whatever  in 
the  larva's  food.  But,  after  all,  cannot  the 
materials  removed  be  simply  shot  back  as 
the  work  proceeds?  The  Cicada  remains 
32 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

four  years  in  the  ground.  This  long  life  is 
not,  of  course,  spent  at  the  bottom  of  the 
well  which  we  have  described:  this  is  just  a 
place  where  the  larva  prepares  for  its 
emergence.  It  comes  from  elsewhere,  doubt- 
less from  some  distance.  It  is  a  vagabond, 
going  from  one  root  to  another  and  driving 
its  sucker  into  each.  When  it  moves,  either 
to  escape  from  the  upper  layers,  which  are 
too  cold  in  winter,  or  to  settle  down  at  a 
better  drinking-bar,  it  clears  a  road  by  fling- 
ing behind  it  the  materials  broken  up  by  its 
pickaxes.  This  is  undoubtedly  the  method. 

As  with  the  larvae  of  the  Capricorn  and 
the  Buprestes,  the  traveller  needs  around 
him  only  the  small  amount  of  free  room 
which  his  movements  require.  Damp,  soft, 
easily  compressed  earth  is  to  this  larva  what 
the  digested  pap  is  to  the  others.  Such  earth 
is  heaped  up  without  difficulty;  it  condenses 
and  leaves  a  vacant  space. 

The  difficulty  is  one  of  a  different  kind 
with  the  exit-well  bored  in  a  very  dry  soil, 
which  offers  a  marked  resistance  to  com- 
pression so  long  as  it  retains  its  aridity.  That 
the  larva,  when  beginning  to  dig  its  passage, 
flung  back  part  of  the  excavated  materials 
into  an  earlier  gallery  which  has  now  disap- 

33 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

peared  is  fairly  probable,  though  there  is 
nothing  in  the  condition  of  things  to  tell  us 
so;  but,  if  we  consider  the  capacity  of  the 
well  and  the  extreme  difficulty  of  finding 
room  for  so  great  a  volume  of  rubbish,  our 
doubts  return  and  we  say  to  ourselves : 

"  This  rubbish  demanded  a  large  empty 
space,  which  itself  was  obtained  by  shifting 
other  refuse  no  less  difficult  to  house.  The 
room  required  presupposes  the  existence  of 
another  space  into  which  the  earth  extracted 
was  shot." 

And  so  we  find  ourselves  in  a  vicious  circle, 
for  the  mere  subsidence  of  materials  flung 
behind  would  not  be  enough  to  explain  so 
great  a  void.  The  Cicada  must  have  a 
special  method  of  disposing  of  the  super- 
fluous earth.  Let  us  try  and  surprise  his 
secret. 

Examine  a  larva  at  the  moment  when  it 
emerges  from  the  ground.  It  is  nearly  al- 
ways more  or  less  soiled  with  mud,  some- 
times wet,  sometimes  dry.  The  digging- 
implements,  the  fore-feet,  have  the  points  of 
their  pickaxes  stuck  in  a  globule  of  slime; 
its  other  legs  are  cased  in  mud;  its  back  is 
spotted  with  clay.  We  are  reminded  of  a 
scavenger  who  has  been  stirring  up  sewage. 

34 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

These  stains  are  the  more  striking  inasmuch 
as  the  creature  comes  out  of  exceedingly  dry 
ground.  We  expected  to  see  it  covered  with 
dust  and  we  find  it  covered  with  mud. 

One  more  step  in  this  direction  and  the 
problem  of  the  well  is  solved.  I  exhume  a 
larva  which  happens  to  be  working  at  its 
exit-gallery.  Very  occasionally,  I  get  a  piece 
of  luck  like  this,  in  the  course  of  my  digging; 
it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  try  for  it,  as 
there  is  nothing  outside  to  guide  my  search. 
My  welcome  prize  is  just  beginning  its 
excavations.  An  inch  of  tunnel,  free  from 
any  rubbish,  and  the  waiting-room  at  the 
bottom  represent  all  the  work  for  the  mo- 
ment. In  what  condition  is  the  worker  ?  We 
shall  see. 

The  grub  is  much  paler  in  colour  than 
those  which  I  catch  as  they  emerge.  Its  big 
eyes  in  particular  are  whitish,  cloudy,  squint- 
ing and  apparently  of  little  use  for  seeing. 
What  good  is  sight  underground?  The 
eyes  of  the  larvs  issuing  from  the  earth 
are,  on  the  contrary,  black  and  shining 
and  indicate  ability  to  see.  When  it 
makes  its  appearance  in  the  sunshine,  the 
future  Cicada  has  to  seek,  occasionally  at 
some  distance  from  the  exit-hole,  the  hanging 

35 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

branch  on  which  the  metamorphosis  will  be 
performed;  and  here  sight  will  manifestly  be 
useful.  This  maturity  of  vision  attained 
during  the  preparation  for  the  release  is 
enough  to  show  us  that  the  larva,  far  from 
hastily  improvising  its  ascending-shaft, 
works  at  it  for  a  long  time. 

Moreover,  the  pale  and  blind  larva  is 
bulkier  than  it  is  in  the  state  of  maturity.  It 
is  swollen  with  liquid  and  looks  dropsical. 
If  you  take  it  in  your  fingers,  a  limpid 
humour  oozes  from  the  hinder  part  and 
moistens  the  whole  body.  Is  this  fluid,  ex- 
pelled from  the  intestines,  a  urinary  product? 
Is  it  just  the  residue  of  a  stomach  fed  solely 
on  sap?  I  will  not  decide  the  question  and 
will  content  myself  with  calling  it  urine, 
merely  for  convenience. 

Well,  this  fountain  of  urine  is  the  key  to 
the  mystery.  The  larva,  as  it  goes  on  and 
digs,  sprinkles  the  dusty  materials  and  makes 
them  into  paste,  which  is  forthwith  applied 
to  the  walls  by  abdominal  pressure.  The 
original  dryness  is  succeeded  by  plasticity. 
The  mud  obtained  penetrates  the  interstices 
of  a  rough  soil;  the  more  liquid  part  of  it 
trickles  in  front;  the  remainder  is  com- 
pressed and  packed  and  occupies  the  empty 
36 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

spaces  in  between.  Thus  is  an  unblocked 
tunnel  obtained,  without  any  refuse,  because 
the  dust  and  rubbish  are  used  on  the  spot  in 
the  form  of  a  mortar  which  is  more  com- 
pact and  more  homogeneous  than  the  soil 
traversed. 

The  larva  therefore  works  in  the  midst  of 
clayey  mire ;  and  this  is  the  cause  of  the  stains 
that  astonish  us  so  much  when  we  see  it 
issuing  from  excessively  dry  soil.  The  per- 
fect insect,  though  relieved  henceforth  from 
all  mining  labour,  does  not  utterly  abandon 
the  use  of  its  bladder;  a  few  drains 
of  urine  are  preserved  as  a  weapon  of  de- 
fence. When  too  closely  observed,  it  dis- 
charges a  spray  at  the  intruder  and  quickly 
flies  away.  In  either  form,  the  Cicada,  his 
dry  constitution  notwithstanding,  proves  him- 
self a  skilled  irrigator. 

Dropsical  though  it  be,  the  larva  cannot 
carry  sufficient  liquid  to  moisten  and  turn 
into  compressible  mud  the  long  column  of 
earth  which  has  to  be  tunnelled.  The  reser- 
voir becomes  exhausted  and  the  supply  has 
to  be  renewed.  How  is  this  done  and  when? 
I  think  I  see. 

The  few  wells  which  I  have  laid  bare 
throughout  their  length,  with  the  pains- 

37 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

taking  care  which  this  sort  of  digging  de- 
mands, show  me  at  the  bottom,  encrusted  in 
the  wall  of  the  terminal  chamber,  a  live  root, 
sometimes  as  big  as  a  lead-pencil,  sometimes 
no  thicker  than  a  straw.  The  visible  part  of 
this  root  is  quite  small,  barely  a  fraction  of 
an  inch.  The  rest  is  contained  in  the  sur- 
rounding earth.  Is  the  discovery  of  this  sort 
of  sap  fortuitous?  Or  is  it  the  result  of  a 
special  search  on  the  larva's  part?  The 
presence  of  a  rootlet  is  so  frequent,  at  least 
when  my  digging  is  skilfully  conducted,  that 
I  rather  favour  the  latter  alternative. 

Yes,  the  Cicada-grub,  when  hollowing  out 
its  cell,  the  starting-point  of  the  future 
chimney,  seeks  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  a  small  live  root;  it  lays  bare  a  certain 
portion,  which  continues  the  side  wall  with- 
out projecting.  This  live  spot  in  the  wall  is, 
I  think,  the  fount  from  which  the  contents 
of  the  urinary  bladder  are  renewed  as 
the  need  arises.  When  its  reserves  are  ex- 
hausted by  the  conversion  of  dry  dust  into 
mud,  the  miner  goes  down  to  his  chamber, 
drives  in  his  sucker  and  takes  a  deep  draught 
from  the  cask  built  into  the  wall.  With  his 
jug  well  filled,  he  goes  up  again.  He  re- 
sumes his  work,  wetting  the  hard  earth  the 
38 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

better  to  flatten  it  with  his  claws  and  reducing 
the  dusty  rubbish  to  mud  which  can  be  heaped 
up  around  him  and  leave  a  clear  thorough- 
fare. That  is  how  things  must  happen.  So 
logic  and  the  circumstances  of  the  case  tell 
us,  in  the  absence  of  direct  observation,  which 
is  not  feasible  here. 

If  this  root-cask  fail,  if  moreover  the 
reservoir  of  the  intestine  be  exhausted,  what 
will  happen  then?  We  shall  learn  from  the 
following  experiment.  I  catch  a  grub  as  it 
is  leaving  the  ground.  I  put  it  at  the  bottom 
of  a  test-tube  and  cover  it  with  a  column  of 
dry  earth,  not  too  closely  packed.  The 
column  is  nearly  six  inches  high.  The  larva 
has  just  quitted  an  excavation  thrice  as  deep, 
in  soil  of  the  same  nature,  but  offering  a 
much  greater  resistance.  Now  that  it  is 
buried  under  my  short,  sandy  column,  will 
it  be  capable  of  climbing  to  the  surface?  If 
it  were  a  mere  matter  of  strength,  the  issue 
would  be  certain.  What  can  an  obstacle 
without  cohesion  be  to  one  that  has  just 
bored  a  hole  through  the  hard  ground? 

And  yet  I  am  assailed  by  doubts.  To 
break  down  the  screen  that  still  separated  it 
from  the  outer  air,  the  larva  has  expended 
its  last  reserves  of  fluid.  The  flask  is  dry; 

39 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

and  there  is  no  way  of  replenishing  it  in 
the  absence  of  a  live  root.  My  suspicion  of 
failure  is  well-founded.  For  three  days  I 
see  the  entombed  one  wasting  itself  in  ef- 
forts without  succeeding  in  rising  an  inch 
higher.  The  materials  removed  refuse  to 
stay  in  position  for  lack  of  anything  to  bind 
them;  they  are  no  sooner  pushed  aside  than 
they  slip  down  again  under  the  insect's  legs. 
The  labour  has  no  perceptible  result  and 
has  always  to  be  done  all  over  again.  On 
the  fourth  day,  the  creature  dies. 

With  the  water-can  full,  the  result  is  quite 
different.  I  subject  to  the  same  experiment 
an  insect  whose  work  of  self-deliverance  is 
just  beginning.  It  is  all  swollen  with 
urinary  humours  which  ooze  out  and  moisten 
its  whole  body.  This  one's  task  is  easy. 
The  materials  offer  hardly  any  resistance. 
A  little  moisture,  supplied  by  the  miner's 
flask,  converts  them  into  mud,  sticks  them 
together  and  keeps  them  out  of  the  way. 
The  passage  is  opened,  very  irregular  in 
shape,  it  is  true,  and  almost  filled  up  at  the 
back  as  the  ascent  proceeds.  It  is  as  though 
the  larva,  recognizing  the  impossibility  of 
renewing  its  store  of  fluid,  were  saving  up 
the  little  which  it  possesses  and  spending  no 
40 


The  Cicada:  leaving  the  Burrow 

more  than  is  strictly  necessary  to  enable  it 
to  escape  as  quickly  as  possible  from  its  un- 
familiar surroundings.  This  economy  is  so 
well  arranged  that  the  insect  reaches  the 
surface  at  the  end  of  ten  days. 


'4* 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   CICADA:  THE   TRANSFORMATION 

THE  exit-gate  is  passed  and  left  wide 
open,  like  a  hole  made  with  a  large 
gimlet.  For  some  time  the  larva  wanders 
about  the  neighbourhood,  looking  for  some 
aerial  support,  a  tiny  bush,  a  tuft  of  thyme, 
a  blade  of  grass  or  the  twig  of  a  shrub.  It 
finds  it,  climbs  up  and,  head  upwards,  clings 
to  it  firmly  with  the  claws  of  the  fore-feet, 
which  close  and  do  not  let  go  again.  The 
other  legs  take  part  in  sustaining  it,  if  the 
position  of  the  branch  make  this  possible; 
if  not,  the  two  claws  suffice.  There  follows 
a  moment  of  rest  to  allow  the  supporting 
arms  to  stiffen  into  an  immovable  grip. 

First,  the  mesothorax  splits  along  the 
middle  of  the  back.  The  edges  of  the  slit 
separate  slowly  and  reveal  the  pale-green 
colour  of  the  insect.  Almost  immediately 
afterwards,  the  prothorax  splits  also.  The 
longitudinal  fissure  reaches  the  back  of  the 
42 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

head  above  and  the  metathorax  below,  with- 
out spreading  farther.  The  wrapper  of  the 
skull  breaks  crosswise,  in  front  of  the  eyes; 
and  the  red  stemmata  appear.  The  green 
portion  uncovered  by  these  ruptures  swells 
and  protrudes  over  the  whole  of  the  meso- 
thorax.  We  see  slow  palpitations,  alternate 
contractions  and  distensions  due  to  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  blood.  This  hernia,  work- 
ing at  first  out  of  sight,  is  the  wedge  that 
made  the  cuirass  split  along  two  crossed 
lines  of  least  resistance. 

The  skinning-operation  makes  rapid  pro- 
gress. Soon  the  head  is  free.  Then  the 
rostrum  and  the  front  legs  gradually  leave 
their  sheaths.  The  body  is  horizontal,  with 
the  ventral  surface  turned  upwards.  Under 
the  wide-open  carapace  appear  the  hinder 
legs,  the  last  to  be  released.  The  wings  are 
distended  with  moisture.  They  are  still 
rumpled  and  look  like  stumps  bent  into  a 
bow.  This  first  phase  of  the  transformation 
has  taken  but  ten  minutes. 

There  remains  the  second,  which  lasts 
longer.  The  whole  of  the  insect  is  free,  ex- 
cept the  tip  of  the  abdomen,  which  is  still 
contained  in  its  scabbard.  The  cast  skin 
continues  to  grip  the  twig.  Stiffening  as  the 

43 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

result  of  quick  desiccation,  it  preserves  with- 
out change  the  attitude  which  it  had  at  the 
start.  It  forms  the  pivot  for  what  is  about 
to  follow. 

Fixed  to  his  slough  by  the  tip  of  the 
abdomen,  which  is  not  yet  extracted,  the 
Cicada  turns  over  perpendicularly,  head 
downwards.  He  is  pale-green,  tinged  with 
yellow.  The  wings,  until  now  compressed 
into  thick  stumps,  straighten  out,  unfurl, 
spread  under  the  rush  of  the  liquid  with 
which  they  are  gorged.  When  this  slow 
and  delicate  operation  is  ended,  the  Cicada, 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  movement, 
draws  himself  up  by  sheer  strength  of  loin 
and  resumes  a  normal  position,  head  up- 
wards. The  fore-legs  hook  on  to  the  empty 
skin;  and  at  last  the  tip  of  the  belly  is  drawn 
from  its  sheath.  The  extraction  is  over. 
The  work  has  required  half  an  hour  alto- 
gether. 

Here  is  the  whole  insect,  freed  from  its 
mask,  but  how  different  from  what  it  will  be 
presently!  The  wings  are  heavy,  moist, 
transparent,  with  their  veins  a  light  green. 
The  prothorax  and  mesothorax  are  barely 
tinged  with  brown.  All  the  rest  of  the  body 
is  pale-green,  whitish  in  places.  It  must 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

bathe  in  air  and  sunshine  for  a  long  time 
before  strength  and  colour  can  come  to  its 
frail  body.  About  two  hours  pass  without 
producing  any  noticeable  change.  Hanging 
to  his  cast  skin  by  his  fore-claws  only,  the 
Cicada  sways  at  the  least  breath  of  air,  still 
feeble  and  still  green.  At  last  the  brown 
tinge  appears,  becomes  more  marked  and  is 
soon  general.  Half  an  hour  has  effected 
the  change  of  colour.  Slung  from  the  sus- 
pension-twig at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  Cicada  flies  away,  before  my  eyes,  at 
half-past  twelve. 

The  cast  skin  remains,  intact,  save  for  its 
fissure,  and  so  firmly  fastened  that  the  rough 
weather  of  autumn  does  not  always  succeed 
in  bringing  it  to  the  ground.  For  some 
months  yet,  even  during  the  winter,  one 
often  meets  old  skins  hanging  in  the  bushes 
in  the  exact  position  adopted  by  the  larva 
at  the  moment  of  its  transformation.  Their 
horny  nature,  something  like  dry  parchment, 
ensures  a  long  existence  for  these  relics. 

Let  us  hark  back  for  a  moment  to  the 
gymnastic  feat  which  enables  the  Cicada  to 
leave  his  scabbard.  At  first  retained  by  the 
tip  of  the  abdomen,  which  is  the  last  part 
to  remain  in  its  case,  the  Cicada  turns  over 

45 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

perpendicularly,  head  downwards.  This 
somersault  allows  him  to  free  his  wings  and 
legs,  after  the  head  and  chest  have  already 
made  their  appearance  by  cracking  the 
armour  under  the  pressure  of  a  hernia. 
Now  comes  the  time  to  free  the  end  of  the 
abdomen,  the  pivot  of  this  inverted  attitude. 
For  this  purpose,  the  insect,  with  a  laborious 
movement  of  its  back,  draws  itself  up,  brings 
its  head  to  the  top  again  and  hooks  itself 
with  its  fore-claws  to  the  cast  skin.  A  fresh 
support  is  thus  obtained,  enabling  it  to  pull 
the  tip  of  its  abdomen  from  its  sheath. 

There  are  therefore  two  means  of  sup- 
port :  first  the  end  of  the  belly  and  then  the 
front  claws;  and  there  are  two  principal 
movements:  in  the  first  place  the  downward 
somersault,  in  the  second  place  the  return  to 
the  normal  position.  These  gymnastics  de- 
mand that  the  larva  shall  fix  itself  to  a  twig, 
head  upwards,  and  that  it  shall  have  a  free 
space  beneath  it.  Suppose  that  these  con- 
ditions were  lacking,  thanks  to  my  wiles: 
what  would  happen?  That  remained  to 
be  seen. 

I  tie  a  thread  to  the  end  of  one  of  the 
hind-legs  and  hang  the  larva  up  in  the  peace- 
ful atmosphere  of  a  test-tube.  My  thread 
46 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

is  a  plumb-line  which  will  remain  vertical, 
for  there  is  nothing  to  interfere  with  it.  In 
this  unwonted  posture,  which  places  its  head 
at  the  bottom  at  a  time  when  the  near  ap- 
proach of  the  transformation  demands  that 
it  should  be  at  the  top,  the  unfortunate  crea- 
ture for  a  long  time  kicks  about  and  strug- 
gles, striving  to  turn  over  and  to  seize  with 
its  fore-claws  either  the  thread  by  which  it 
hangs  or  one  of  its  own  hind-legs.  Some  of 
them  succeed  in  their  efforts,  draw  them- 
selves up  as  best  they  can,  fasten  themselves 
as  they  wish,  despite  the  difficulty  of  keeping 
their  balance,  and  effect  their  metamorphosis 
without  impediment. 

Others  wear  themselves  out  in  vain.  They 
do  not  catch  hold  of  the  thread,  they  do  not 
bring  their  heads  upwards.  Then  the  trans- 
formation is  not  accomplished.  Sometimes 
the  dorsal  rupture  takes  place,  leaving  bare 
the  mesothorax  swollen  into  a  hernia,  but  the 
shelling  proceeds  no  farther  and  the  insect 
soon  dies.  More  often  still  the  larva  per- 
ishes intact,  without  the  least  fissure. 

Another  experiment.    I  place  the  larva  in 

a  glass  jar  with  a  thin  bed  of  sand,  which 

makes  progress  possible.    The  animal  moves 

along,  but  is  not  able  to  hoist  itself  up  any- 

47 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

where:  the  slippery  sides  of  the  glass 
prevent  this.  Under  these  conditions,  the 
captive  expires  without  trying  to  transform 
itself.  I  have  known  exceptions  to  this  mis- 
erable ending;  I  have  sometimes  seen  the 
larva  undergo  a  regular  metamorphosis  on 
a  layer  of  sand  thanks  to  peculiarities  of 
equilibrium  which  were  very  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish. In  the  main,  when  the  normal  atti- 
tude or  something  very  near  it  is  impossible, 
metamorphosis  does  not  take  place  and  the 
insect  succumbs.  That  is  the  general  rule. 

This  result  seems  to  tell  us  that  the  larva 
is  capable  of  opposing  the  forces  which  are 
at  work  in  it  when  the  transformation  is  at 
hand.  A  cabbage-silique,  a  pea-pod  invari- 
ably burst  to  set  free  their  seeds.  The 
Cicada-larva,  a  sort  of  pod  containing,  by 
way  of  seed,  the  perfect  insect,  is  able  to 
control  its  dehiscence,  to  defer  it  until  a 
more  opportune  moment  and  even  to  sup- 
press it  altogether  in  unfavourable  circum- 
stances. Convulsed  by  the  profound  revo- 
lution that  takes  place  in  its  body  on  the 
point  of  transfiguration,  but  at  the  same  time 
warned  by  instinct  that  the  conditions  are 
not  good,  the  insect  makes  a  desperate  re- 
sistance and  dies  rather  than  consent  to  open. 
48. 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

Apart  from  the  trials  to  which  my  curi- 
osity subjects  it,  I  do  not  see  that  the  Cicada- 
larva  is  exposed  to  any  danger  of  perishing 
in  this  way.  There  is  always  a  bit  of  brush- 
wood of  some  kind  near  the  exit-hole.  The 
newly-exhumed  insect  climbs  on  it;  and  a 
few  minutes  are  enough  for  the  animal  pod 
to  split  down  the  back.  This  swift  hatching 
has  often  been  a  source  of  trouble  to  me  in 
my  studies.  A  larva  appears  on  the  hills 
not  far  from  my  house.  I  catch  sight  of  it 
just  as  it  is  fastening  on  the  twig.  It  would 
form  an  interesting  subject  of  observation 
indoors.  I  place  it  in  a  paper  bag,  together 
with  the  stick  that  carries  it,  and  hurry  home. 
This  takes  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  it  is 
labour  lost:  by  the  time  that  I  arrive,  the 
green  Cicada  is  almost  free.  I  shall  not  see 
what  I  was  bent  on  seeing.  I  had  to 
abandon  this  method  of  obtaining  informa- 
tion and  be  content  with  an  occasional  lucky 
find  within  a  few  yards  of  my  door. 

"  Everything  is  in  everything,"  as  Jacotot 
the  pedagogue  *  used  to  say.  In  connection 

1  Joseph  Jacotot  (1770-1840),  a  famous  French  edu- 
cator, whose  methods  aroused  a  great  deal  of  discuss- 
ion. He  propounded  other  more  or  less  paradoxical 
maxims,  such  as,  "  All  men  have  an  equal  intelligence," 
"  A  man  can  teach  what  he  does  not  know,"  and  so  on. 
— Translator's  Note. 

49 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

with  that  remarkably  quick  metamorphosis 
a  culinary  question  arises.  According  to 
Aristotle,  Cicadae  were  a  highly-appreciated 
dish  among  the  Greeks.  I  am  not  acquainted 
with  the  great  naturalist's  text:  humble  vil- 
lager that  I  am,  my  library  possesses  no  such 
treasure.  I  happen,  however,  to  have  before 
me  a  venerable  tome  which  can  tell  me  just 
what  I  want  to  know.  I  refer  to  Matthiolus' 
Commentaries  on  Dioscorides.1  As  an  emi- 
nent scholar,  who  must  have  known  his 
Aristotle  very  well,  Matthiolus  inspires  me 
with  complete  confidence.  Now  he  says : 

"  Mirum  non  est  quod  dixerit  Aristoteles, 
cicadas  esse  gustu  suavissimas  antequam 
tettigometra  rumpattir  cortex." 

Knowing  that  tettigometra,  or  mother  of 
the  Cicada,  is  the  expression  used  by  the 
ancients  to  denote  the  larva,  we  see  that, 
according  to  Aristotle,  the  Cicadae  possess  a 
flavour  most  delicious  to  the  taste  before  the 
bark  or  outer  covering  of  the  matrix  bursts. 

1  Pietro  Andrea  Mattioli  (1500-1577),  known  as 
Matthiolus,  a  physician  and  naturalist  who  practised  at 
Siena  and  Rome.  His  Commentaries  on  Dioscorides 
were  published  in  Italian,  at  Venice,  in  1544  and  in  Latin 
in  1554. — Translator's  Note. 
SO 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

This  detail  of  the  unbroken  covering  tells 
us  at  what  season  the  toothsome  dainty 
should  be  picked.  It  cannot  be  in  winter, 
when  the  earth  is  dug  deep  by  the  plough, 
for  at  that  time  there  is  no  danger  of  the 
larva's  hatching.  People  do  not  recommend 
an  utterly  superflous  precaution.  It  is  there- 
fore in  summer,  at  the  period  of  the  emer- 
gence from  underground,  when  a  good 
search  will  discover  the  larvae,  one  by  one, 
on  the  surface  of  the  soil.  This  is  the  real 
moment  to  take  care  that  the  wrapper  is 
unbroken.  It  is  the  moment  also  to  hasten 
the  gathering  and  the  preparations  for  cook- 
ing: in  a  very  few  minutes  the  wrapper  will 
burst. 

Are  the  ancient  culinary  reputation  and 
that  appetizing  epithet,  suavissimas  gustu, 
well-deserved?  We  have  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity: let  us  profit  by  it  and  restore  to 
honour,  if  the  occasion  warrant  it,  the  dish 
extolled  by  Aristotle.  Rondelet,1  Rabelais' 
erudite  friend,  gloried  in  having  redisco- 

1  Guillaume  Rondelet  (1507-1566),  a  physician  and 
naturalist,  author  of  various  works  on  medicine  and  of 
an  Universa  pisclum  historia  (Lyons,  1554)  which  earned 
him  the  title  of  father  of  ichthyology.  Rabelais  intro- 
duces him!  into  his  Pantagruel  by  the  name  of  Rondibilis. 
— Translator's  Note. 

51 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

vered  garum,  the  famous  sauce  made  from 
the  entrails  of  rotten  fish.  Would  it  not  be 
a  meritorious  work  to  give  the  epicures  their 
tettigometra  again? 

On  a  morning  in  July,  when  the  sun  is  up 
and  has  invited  the  Cicadae  to  leave  the 
ground,  the  whole  household,  big  and  little, 
go  out  searching.  There  are  five  of  us  en- 
gaged in  exploring  the  enclosure,  especially 
the  edges  of  paths,  which  yield  the  best  re- 
sults. To  prevent  the  skin  from  bursting,  as 
each  larva  is  found  I  dip  it  into  a  glass  of 
water.  Asphyxia  will  stay  the  work  of 
metamorphosis.  After  two  hours  of  careful 
seeking,  when  every  forehead  is  streaming 
with  perspiration,  I  am  the  owner  of  four 
larvae,  no  more.  They  are  dead  or  dying 
in  their  preserving  bath;  but  this  does  not 
matter,  since  they  are  destined  for  the 
frying-pan. 

The  method  of  cooking  is  of  the  simplest, 
so  as  to  alter  as  little  as  possible  the  flavour 
reputed  to  be  so  exquisite:  a  few  drops  of 
oil,  a  pinch  of  salt,  a  little  onion  and  that 
is  all.  There  is  no  conciser  recipe  in  the 
whole  of  La  Culsiniere  bourgeoise.  At  din- 
ner, the  fry  is  divided  fairly  among  all  of  us 
hunters. 

52 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

The  stuff  is  unanimously  admitted  to  be 
eatable.  True,  we  are  people  blessed  with 
good  appetites  and  wholly  unprejudiced 
stomachs.  There  is  even  a  slightly  shrimpy 
flavour  which  would  be  found  in  a  still  more 
pronounced  form  in  a  brochette  of  Locusts. 
It  is,  however,  as  tough  as  the  devil  and 
anything  but  succulent;  we  really  feel  as  if 
we  were  chewing  bits  of  parchment.  I  will 
not  recommend  to  anybody  the  dish  extolled 
by  Aristotle. 

Certainly,  the  renowned  animal-historian 
was  remarkably  well-informed  as  a  rule. 
His  royal  pupil  sent  on  his  behalf  to  India, 
the  land  at  that  time  so  full  of  mystery,  for 
the  curiosities  most  impressive  to  Mace- 
donian eyes;  he  received  by  caravan  the 
Elephant,  the  Panther,  the  Tiger,  the 
Rhinoceros,  the  Peacock;  and  he  described 
them  faithfully.  But,  in  Macedonia  itself, 
he  knew  the  insect  only  through  the  peasant, 
that  stubborn  tiller  of  the  soil,  who  found 
the  tettigometra  under  his  spade  and  was 
the  first  to  know  that  a  Cicada  comes  out  of 
it.  Aristotle,  therefore,  in  his  immense  un- 
dertaking, was  doing  more  or  less  what 
Pliny  was  to  do  later,  with  a  much  greater 
amount  of  artless  credulity.  He  listened  to 
53 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  chit-chat  of  the  country-side  and  set  it 
down  as  veracious  history. 

Rustic  waggery  is  world-famous.  The 
countryman  is  always  ready  to  jeer  at  the 
trifles  which  we  call  science;  he  laughs  at 
whoso  stops  to  examine  an  insignificant  in- 
sect; he  goes  into  fits  of  laughter  if  he  sees 
us  picking  up  a  pebble,  looking  at  it  and 
putting  it  in  our  pocket.  The  Greek  peasant 
excelled  in  this  sort  of  thing.  He  told  the 
townsman  that  the  tettigometra  was  a  dish 
fit  for  the  gods,  of  an  incomparable  flavour, 
suavissima  gustu.  But,  while  making  his 
victim's  mouth  water  with  hyperbolical 
praises,  he  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  satisfy 
his  longings,  by  laying  down  the  essential 
condition  that  he  must  gather  the  delicious 
morsel  before  the  shell  had  burst. 

I  should  like  to  see  any  one  try  to  get 
together  the  material  for  a  sufficiently 
copious  dish  by  gathering  a  few  handfuls  of 
tettigometra  just  coming  out  of  the  earth, 
when  my  squad  of  five  took  two  hours 
to  find  four  larvae  on  ground  rich  in 
Cicadas.  Above  all,  mind  that  the  skin  does 
not  break  during  your  search,  which  will  last 
for  days  and  days,  whereas  the  bursting 
takes  place  in  a  few  minutes.  My  opinion 
54 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

is  that  Aristotle  never  tasted  a  fry  of  tet- 
tigometrte;  and  my  own  culinary  experience 
is  my  witness.  He  is  repeating  some  rustic 
jest  in  all  good  faith.  His  heavenly  dish  is 
too  horrible  for  words. 

Oh,  what  a  fine  collection  of  stories  I  too 
could  make  about  the  Cicada,  if  I  listened  to 
all  that  my  neighbours  the  peasants  tell  me ! 
I  will  give  one  particular  of  his  history  and 
one  alone,  as  related  in  the  country. 

Have  you  any  renal  infirmity?  Are  you 
dropsical  at  all?  Do  you  need  a  powerful 
depurative?  The  village  pharmacopoeia  is 
unanimous  in  suggesting  the  Cicada  as  a 
sovran  remedy.  The  insects  are  collected  in 
summer,  in  their  adult  form.  They  are 
strung  together  and  dried  in  the  sun  and  are 
fondly  preserved  in  a  corner  of  the  press. 
A  housewife  would  think  herself  lacking  in 
prudence  if  she  allowed  July  to  pass  without 
threading  her  store  of  them. 

Do  you  suffer  from  irritation  of  the  kid- 
neys, or  perhaps  from  stricture?  Quick, 
have  some  Cicada-tea!  Nothing,  they  tell 
me,  is  so  efficacious.  I  am  duly  grateful  to 
the  good  soul  who  once,  as  I  have  since 
heard,  made  me  drink  a  concoction  of  the 
sort,  without  my  knowing  it,  for  some 
55 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

trouble  or  other;  but  I  remain  profoundly 
incredulous.  I  am  struck,  however,  by  the 
fact  that  the  same  specific  was  recommended 
long  ago  by  Dioscorides.  The  old  Cilician 
doctor  tells  us : 

"Cicada,  qua  inassata  manduntur,  ve- 
sica  doloribus  prosunt"  1 

Ever  since  the  far-off  days  of  this  patri- 
arch of  materia  medica,  the  Provengal  peas- 
ant has  retained  his  faith  in  the  remedy  re- 
vealed to  him  by  the  Greeks  who  brought 
the  olive,  the  fig-tree  and  the  vine  from 
Phocaea.  One  thing  alone  is  changed:  Di- 
oscorides advises  us  to  eat  our  Cicadas 
roasted;  nowadays  they  are  boiled  and 
taken  as  an  infusion. 

The  explanation  given  of  the  insect's 
diuretic  properties  is  wonderfully  ingenuous. 
The  Cicada,  as  all  of  us  here  know,  shoots 
a  sudden  spray  of  urine,  as  it  flies  away,  in 
the  face  of  any  one  who  tries  to  take  hold 
of  it.  He  is  therefore  bound  to  hand  on  his 
powers  of  evacuation  to  us.  Thus  must 
Dioscorides  and  his  contemporaries  have 

1 "  Cicadae  eaten  roasted  are  good  for  pains  in  the 
bladder." 


The  Cicada:  the  Transformation 

argued;  and  thus  does  the  peasant  of  Pro- 
vence argue  to  this  day. 

O  my  worthy  friends,  what  would  you  say 
if  you  knew  the  virtues  of  the  tettigometra, 
which  is  capable  of  mixing  mortar  with  its 
urine  to  build  a  meteorological  station 
withal !  You  would  be  driven  to  borrow  the 
hyperbole  of  Rabelais,  who  shows  us  Gar- 
gantua  seated  on  the  towers  of  Notre-Dame 
and  drowning  with  the  deluge  from  his 
mighty  bladder  so  many  thousand  Paris 
loafers,  not  to  mention  the  women  and 
children ! 


57 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   CICADA:   HIS  MUSIC 

"DY  his  own  confession,  Reaumur  never 
••-*  heard  the  Cicada  sing;  he  never  saw  the 
insect  alive.  It  reached  him  from  the  coun- 
try round  Avignon  preserved  in  spirits  and 
a  goodly  supply  of  sugar.  These  conditions 
were  enough  to  enable  the  anatomist  to  give 
an  exact  description  of  the  organ  of  sound; 
nor  did  the  master  fail  to  do  so:  his  pene- 
trating eye  clearly  discerned  the  construction 
of  the  strange  musical-box,  so  much  so  that 
his  treatise  upon  it  has  become  the  fountain- 
head  for  any  one  who  wants  to  say  a  few 
words  about  the  Cicada's  song. 

With  him  the  harvest  was  gathered;  it 
but  remains  to  glean  a  few  ears  which  the 
disciple  hopes  to  make  into  a  sheaf.  I  have 
more  than  enough  of  what  Reaumur  lacked : 
I  hear  rather  more  of  these  deafening 
symphonists  than  I  could  wish ;  and  so  I  shall 
perhaps  obtain  a  little  fresh  light  on  a  sub- 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

ject  that  seems  exhausted.  Let  us  therefore 
go  back  to  the  question  of  the  Cicada's  song, 
repeating  only  so  much  of  the  data  acquired 
as  may  be  necessary  to  make  my  explanation 
clear. 

In  my  neighbourhood  I  can  capture  five 
species  of  Cicadse,  namely,  Cicada  plebeia, 
LIN.  ;  C.  orni,  LIN.  ;  C.  hematodes,  LIN.  ;  C. 
atra,  OLIV.  ;  and  C.  -pygmtsa,  OLIV.  The  first 
two  are  extremely  common;  the  three  others 
are  rarities,  almost  unknown  to  the  country- 
folk. 

The  Common  Cicada  is  the  biggest  of  the 
five,  the  most  popular  and  the  one  whose  mu- 
sical apparatus  is  usually  described.  Under 
the  male's  chest,  immediately  behind  the 
hind-legs,  are  two  large  semicircular  plates, 
overlapping  each  other  slightly,  the  right 
plate  being  on  the  top  of  the  left.  These 
are  the  shutters,  the  lids,  the  dampers,  in 
short  the  opercula  of  the  organ  of  sound. 
Lift  them  up.  You  then  see  opening,  on 
either  side,  a  roomy  cavity,  known  in  Pro- 
vence by  the  name  of  the  chapel  (li  capello). 
The  two  together  form  the  church  (la 
gleiso).  They  are  bounded  in  front  by  a 
soft,  thin,  creamy-yellow  membrane;  at  the 
back  by  a  dry  pellicle,  iridescent  as  a  soap- 
59 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

bubble  and  called  the  mirror  (mirau)  in  the 
Provengal  tongue. 

The  church,  the  mirrors  and  the  lids  are 
commonly  regarded  as  the  sound-producing 
organs.  Of  a  singer  short  of  breath  it  is 
said  that  he  has  cracked  his  mirrors  (a  li 
mirau  creba}.  Picturesque  language  says 
the  same  thing  of  an  uninspired  poet. 
Acoustics  give  the  lie  to  the  popular  belief. 
You  can  break  the  mirrors,  remove  the  lids 
with  a  cut  of  the  scissors,  tear  the  yellow 
front  membrane  and  these  mutilations  will 
not  do  away  with  the  Cicada's  song:  they 
simply  modify  it,  weaken  it  slightly.  The 
chapels  are  resonators.  They  do  not  pro- 
duce sound,  they  increase  it  by  the  vibrations 
of  their  front  and  back  membranes;  they 
change  it  as  their  shutters  are  opened  more 
or  less  wide. 

The  real  organ  of  sound  is  seated  else- 
where and  is  not  easy  to  find,  for  a  novice. 
On  the  other  side  of  each  chapel,  at  the  ridge 
joining  the  belly  to  the  back,  is  a  slit  bounded 
by  horny  walls  and  masked  by  the  lowered 
lid.  Let  us  call  it  the  window.  This  open- 
ing leads  to  a  cavity  or  sound-chamber  deeper 
than  the  adjacent  chapel,  but  much  less  wide. 
Immediately  behind  the  attachment  of  the 
60 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

rear  wings  is  a  slight,  almost  oval  protu- 
berance, which  is  distinguished  by  its  dull- 
black  colour  from  the  silvery  down  of  the 
surrounding  skin.  This  protuberance  is  the 
outer  wall  of  the  sound-chamber. 

Let  us  make  a  large  cut  in  it.  We  now 
lay  bare  the  sound-producing  apparatus,  the 
cymbal.  This  is  a  little  dry,  white  mem- 
brane, oval-shaped,  convex  on  the  outside, 
crossed  from  end  to  end  of  its  longer 
diameter  by  a  bundle  of  three  or  four  brown 
nervures,  which  give  it  elasticity,  and  fixed 
all  round  in  a  stiff  frame.  Imagine  this 
bulging  scale  to  be  pulled  out  of  shape  from 
within,  flattening  slightly  and  then  quickly 
recovering  its  original  convexity  owing  to 
the  spring  of  its  nervures.  The  drawing 
in  and  blowing  out  will  produce  a  clicking 
sound. 

Twenty  years  ago,  all  Paris  went  mad 
over  a  silly  toy  called  the  Cricket,  or  Cri-cri, 
if  I  remember  rightly.  It  consisted  of  a 
short  blade  of  steel,  fastened  at  one  end  to 
a  metallic  base.  Alternately  pressed  out  of 
shape  with  the  thumb  and  then  released,  the 
said  blade,  though  possessing  no  other  merit, 
gave  out  a  very  irritating  click;  and  nothing 
more  was  needed  to  make  it  popular.  The 
61 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Cricket's  vogue  is  over.  Oblivion  has  done 
justice  to  it  so  drastically  that  I  doubt  if  I 
shall  be  understood  when  I  recall  the  once 
famous  apparatus. 

The  membranous  cymbal  and  steel  Cricket 
are  similar  instruments.  Both  are  made  to 
rattle  by  pushing  an  elastic  blade  out  of 
shape  and  restoring  it  to  its  original  condi- 
tion. The  Cricket  was  bent  out  of  shape  with 
the  thumb.  How  is  the  convexity  of  the  cym- 
bals modified  ?  Let  us  go  back  to  the  church 
and  break  the  yellow  curtain  that  marks 
the  boundary  of  each  chapel  in  front.  Two 
thick  muscular  columns  come  in  sight,  of  a 
pale  orange  colour,  joined  together  in  the 
form  of  a  V,  with  its  point  standing  on  the 
insect's  median  line,  on  the  lower  surface. 
Each  of  these  fleshy  columns  ends  abruptly 
at  the  top,  as  though  lopped  off;  and  from 
the  truncated  stump  rises  a  short,  slender 
cord  which  is  fastened  to  the  side  of  the  cor- 
responding cymbal. 

There  you  have  the  whole  mechanism, 
which  is  no  less  simple  than  that  of  the  metal 
Cricket.  The  two  muscular  columns  con- 
tract and  relax,  shorten  and  lengthen.  By 
means  of  the  terminal  thread  each  tugs  at 
its  cymbal,  pulling  it  down  and  forthwith  let- 
62 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

ting  it  spring  back  of  itself.  Thus  are  the 
two  sound-plates  made  to  vibrate. 

Would  you  convince  yourself  of  the  ef- 
ficacy of  this  mechanism?  Would  you  make 
a  dead  but  still  fresh  Cicada  sing?  Nothing 
could  be  simpler.  Seize  one  of  the  muscular 
columns  with  the  pincers  and  jerk  it  gently. 
The  dead  Cri-cri  comes  to  life  again;  each 
jerk  produces  the  clash  of  the  cymbal.  The 
sound  is  very  feeble,  I  admit,  deprived  of 
the  fulness  which  the  living  virtuoso  obtains 
with  the  aid  of  his  sound-chambers;  never- 
theless the  fundamental  element  of  the  song 
is  produced  by  this  anatomical  trick. 

Would  you  on  the  other  hand  silence  a 
live  Cicada,  that  obstinate  melomaniac  who, 
when  you  hold  him  prisoner  in  your  fingers, 
bewails  his  sad  lot  as  garrulously  as,  just 
now,  he  sang  his  joys  in  the  tree?  It  is  no 
use  to  break  open  his  chapels,  to  crack  his 
mirrors:  the  shameful  mutilation  would  not 
check  him.  But  insert  a  pin  through  the  side 
slit  which  we  have  called  the  window  and 
touch  the  cymbal  at  the  bottom  of  the  sound- 
chamber.  A  tiny  prick;  and  the  perforated 
cymbal  is  silent.  A  similar  operation  on  the 
other  side  renders  the  insect  mute,  though 
it  remains  as  vigorous  as  before,  showing 
63 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

no  perceptible  wound.  Any  one  unacquainted 
with  the  method  of  procedure  stands  amazed 
at  the  result  of  my  pin-prick,  when  the  utter 
destruction  of  the  mirrors  and  the  other  ac- 
cessories of  the  church  does  not  produce 
silence.  A  tiny  and  in  no  way  serious  stab 
has  an  effect  which  is  not  caused  even  by 
evisceration. 

The  lids,  those  firmly  fitted  plates,  are 
stationary.  It  is  the  abdomen  itself  which, 
by  rising  and  falling,  causes  the  church  to 
open  and  shut.  When  the  abdomen  is  low- 
ered, the  lids  cover  the  chapels  exactly,  to- 
gether with  the  windows  of  the  sound- 
chambers.  The  sound  is  then  weakened, 
muffled,  stifled.  When  the  abdomen  rises, 
the  chapels  open,  the  windows  are  unob- 
structed and  the  sound  acquires  its  full 
strength.  The  rapid  oscillations  of  the  belly, 
therefore,  synchronizing  with  the  contrac- 
tions of  the  motor-muscles  of  the  cymbals, 
determine  the  varying  volume  of  the  sound, 
which  seems  to  come  from  hurried  strokes  of 
a  bow. 

When  the  weather  is  calm  and  warm, 
about  the  middle  of  the  day,  the  Cicada's 
song  is  divided  into  strophes  of  a  few  sec- 
onds' duration,  separated  by  short  pauses. 
64 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

The  strophe  begins  abruptly.  In  a  rapid 
crescendo,  the  abdomen  oscillating  faster  and 
faster,  it  acquires  its  maximum  volume;  it 
keeps  up  the  same  degree  of  strength  for  a 
few  seconds  and  then  becomes  gradually 
weaker  and  degenerates  into  a  tremolo  which 
decreases  as  the  belly  relapses  into  rest. 
With  the  last  pulsations  of  the  abdomen 
comes  silence,  which  lasts  for  a  longer  or 
shorter  time  according  to  the  condition  of  the 
atmosphere.  Then  suddenly  we  hear  a  new 
strophe,  a  monotonous  repetition  of  the  first; 
and  so  on  indefinitely. 

It  often  happens,  especially  during  the 
sultry  evening  hours,  that  the  insect,  drunk 
with  sunshine,  shortens  and  even  entirely 
suppresses  the  pauses.  The  song  is  then  con- 
tinuous, but  always  with  alternations  of 
crescendo  and  decrescendo.  The  first  strokes 
of  the  bow  are  given  at  about  seven  or  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning;  and  the  orchestra 
ceases  only  with  the  dying  gleams  of  the 
twilight,  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing. Altogether  the  concert  lasts  the  whole 
round  of  the  clock.  But,  if  the  sky  be  over- 
cast, if  the  wind  blow  cold,  the  Cicada  is 
dumb. 

The  second  species  is  only  half  the  size 
65 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

of  the  Common  Cicada  and  is  known  in  the 
district  by  the  name  of  the  Cacan,  a  fairly 
accurate  imitation  of  his  peculiar  rattle.  This 
is  the  Ash  Cicada  of  the  naturalists;  and  he 
is  far  more  alert  and  more  suspicious  than 
the  first.  His  harsh  loud  song  consists  of  a 
series  of  Can!  Can!  Can!  Can!  with  not 
a  pause  to  divide  the  ode  into  strophes.  Its 
monotony  and  its  harsh  shrillness  make  it  a 
most  unpleasant  ditty,  especially  when  the 
orchestra  is  composed  of  some  hundreds  of 
executants,  as  happens  in  my  two  plane-trees 
during  the  dog-days.  At  such  times  it  is  as 
though  a  heap  of  dry  walnuts  were  being 
shaken  in  a  bag  until  the  shells  cracked. 
This  irritating  concert,  a  veritable  torment, 
has  only  one  slight  advantage  about  it:  the 
Ash  Cicada  does  not  start  quite  so  early  in 
the  morning  as  the  Common  Cicada  and  does 
not  sit  up  so  late  at  night. 

Although  constructed  on  the  same  funda- 
mental principles,  the  vocal  apparatus  dis- 
plays numerous  peculiarities  which  give  the 
song  its  special  character.  The  sound- 
chamber  is  entirely  lacking,  which  means  that 
there  is  no  entrance-window  either.  The 
cymbal  is  uncovered,  just  behind  the  insertion 
of  the  hind-wing.  It  again  is  a  dry,  white 
66 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

scale,  convex  on  the  outside  and  crossed  by 
a  bundle  of  five  red-brown  nervures. 

The  first  segment  of  the  abdomen  thrusts 
forward  a  short,  wide  tongue,  which  is  quite 
rigid  and  of  which  the  free  end  rests  on  the 
cymbal.  This  tongue  may  be  compared  with 
the  blade  of  a  rattle  which,  instead  of  fitting 
into  the  teeth  of  a  revolving  wheel,  touches 
the  nervures  of  the  vibrating  cymbal  more  or 
less  closely.  The  harsh,  grating  sound  must, 
I  think,  be  partly  due  to  this.  It  is  hardly 
possible  to  verify  the  fact  when  holding  the 
creature  in  our  fingers :  the  startled  Cacan 
does  anything  at  such  times  rather  than  emit 
his  normal  song. 

The  lids  do  not  overlap ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  are  separated  by  a  rather  wide  interval. 
With  the  rigid  tongues,  those  appendages  of 
the  abdomen,  they  shelter  one  half  of  the 
cymbals,  the  other  half  of  which  is  quite 
bare.  The  abdomen,  when  pressed  with  the 
finger,  does  not  open  to  any  great  extent 
where  it  joins  the  thorax.  For  the  rest,  the 
insect  keeps  still  when  it  sings;  it  knows 
nothing  of  the  rapid  quivering  of  the  belly 
that  modulates  the  song  of  the  Common 
Cicada.  The  chapels  are  very  small  and  al- 
most negligible  as  sounding-boards.  There 
67 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

are  mirrors,  it  is  true,  but  insignificant  ones, 
measuring  scarcely  a  twenty-fifth  of  an  inch. 
In  short,  the  mechanism  of  sound,  which  is  so 
highly  developed  in  the  Common  Cicada,  is 
very  rudimentary  here.  How  then  does  the 
thin  clash  of  the  cymbals  manage  to  gain  in 
volume  until  it  becomes  intolerable  ? 

The  Ash  Cicada  is  a  ventriloquist.  If  we 
examine  the  abdomen  by  holding  it  up  to  the 
light,  we  see  that  the  front  two  thirds  are 
translucent.  Let  us  snip  off  the  opaque  third 
part  that  retains,  reduced  to  the  strictly 
indispensable,  the  organs  essential  to  the 
propagation  of  the  species  and  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  individual.  The  rest  of  the  belly 
is  wide  open  and  presents  a  spacious  cavity, 
with  nothing  but  its  tegumentary  walls,  ex- 
cept in  the  case  of  the  dorsal  surface,  which 
is  lined  with  a  thin  layer  of  muscle  and  serves 
as  a  support  to  the  slender  digestive  tube, 
which  is  little  more  than  a  thread.  The 
large  receptacle,  forming  nearly  half  of  the 
insect's  total  bulk,  is  therefore  empty,  or 
nearly  so.  At  the  back  are  seen  the  two 
motor  pillars  of  the  cymbals,  the  two  mus- 
cular columns  arranged  in  a  V.  To  the 
right  and  left  of  the  point  of  this  V  gleam 
the  two  tiny  mirrors ;  and  the  empty  space  is 
68 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

continued  between  the  two  branches  into  the 
depths  of  the  thorax. 

This  hollow  belly  and  its  thoracic  comple- 
ment form  an  enormous  resonator,  unap- 
proached  by  that  of  any  other  performer  in 
our  district.  If  I  close  with  my  finger  the 
orifice  in  the  abdomen  which  I  have  just 
clipped,  the  sound  becomes  lower,  in  con- 
formity with  the  laws  affecting  organ-pipes; 
if  I  fit  a  cylinder,  a  screw  of  paper,  to  the 
mouth  of  the  open  belly,  the  sound  becomes 
louder  as  well  as  deeper.  With  a  paper 
funnel  properly  adjusted,  its  wide  end 
thrust  into  the  mouth  of  a  test-tube  acting 
as  a  sounding-board,  we  have  no  longer  the 
shrilling  of  the  Cicada  but  something  very 
near  the  bellowing  of  a  Bull.  My  small  chil- 
dren, happening  to  be  there  at  the  moment 
when  I  am  making  my  acoustic  experiments, 
run  away  scared.  The  familiar  insect  in- 
spires them  with  terror. 

The  harshness  of  the  sound  appears  to  be 
due  to  the  tongue  of  the  rattle  rasping  the 
nervures  of  the  vibrating  cymbals;  its  in- 
tensity may  no  doubt  be  ascribed  to  the  spa- 
cious sounding-board  of  the  belly.  Assuredly 
one  must  be  passionately  enamoured  of  song 
thus  to  empty  one's  belly  and  chest  in  order 
69 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

to  make  room  for  a  musical-box.  The  essen- 
tial vital  organs  are  reduced  to  the  minimum, 
are  confined  to  a  tiny  corner,  so  as  to  leave 
a  greater  space  for  the  sounding-cavity. 
Song  comes  first;  all  the  rest  takes  second 
place. 

It  is  a  good  thing  that  the  Ash  Cicada  does 
not  follow  the  teaching  of  the  evolutionists. 
If,  becoming  more  enthusiastic  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  he  were  able  by  pro- 
gressive stages  to  acquire  a  ventral  sounding- 
board  fit  to  compare  with  that  which  my 
paper  screws  give  him,  my  Provence,  peopled 
as  it  is  with  Cacans,  would  one  day  become 
uninhabitable. 

After  the  details  which  I  have  already 
given  concerning  the  Common  Cicada,  it 
seems  hardly  necessary  to  say  how  the  insup- 
portable chatterbox  of  the  Ash  is  rendered 
dumb.  The  cymbals  are  clearly  visible  on 
the  outside.  You  prick  them  with  the  point 
of  a  needle.  Complete  silence  follows  in- 
stantly. Why  are  there  not  in  my  plane- 
trees,  among  the  dagger-wearing  insects, 
auxiliaries  who,  like  myself,  love  quiet  and 
who  would  devote  themselves  to  that  task! 
A  mad  wish !  A  note  would  then  be  lacking 
in  the  majestic  harvest  symphony. 
70 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

The  Red  Cicada  (C.  hematodes)  is  a  little 
smaller  than  the  Common  Cicada.  He  owes 
his  name  to  the  blood-red  colour  that  takes 
the  place  of  the  other's  brown  on  the  veins  of 
the  wings  and  some  other  lineaments  of  the 
body.  He  is  rare.  I  come  upon  him  occa- 
sionally in  the  hawthorn-bushes.  As  regards 
his  musical  apparatus,  he  stands  half-way  be- 
tween the  Common  Cicada  and  the  Ash 
Cicada.  He  has  the  former's  oscillation  of 
the  belly,  which  increases  or  reduces  the 
strength  of  the  sound  by  opening  or  closing 
the  church;  he  possesses  the  latter's  exposed 
cymbals,  unaccompanied  by  any  sound- 
chamber  or  window. 

The  cymbals  therefore  are  bare,  immedi- 
ately after  the  attachment  of  the  hind-wings. 
They  are  white,  fairly  regular  in  their  con- 
vexity and  boast  eight  long,  parallel  nervures 
of  a  ruddy  brown  and  seven  others  which  are 
much  shorter  and  which  are  inserted  singly 
in  the  intervals  between  the  first.  The  lids 
are  small  and  scolloped  at  their  inner  edge 
so  as  to  cover  only  half  of  the  corresponding 
chapel.  The  opening  left  by  the  hollow  in 
the  lid  has  as  a  shutter  a  little  pallet  fixed 
to  the  base  of  the  hind-leg,  which,  by  folding 
itself  against  the  body  or  lifting  slightly, 
71 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

keeps  the  aperture  either  shut  or  open.  The 
other  Cicadae  have  each  a  similar  appendage, 
but  in  their  case  it  is  narrower  and  more 
pointed. 

Moreover,  as  with  the  Common  Cicada, 
the  belly  moves  freely  up  and  down.  This 
heaving  movement,  combined  with  the  play  of 
the  femoral  pallets,  opens  and  closes  the 
chapels  to  varying  extents. 

The  mirrors,  though  not  so  large  as  the 
Common  Cicada's,  have  the  same  appear- 
ance. The  membrane  that  faces  them  on  the 
thorax  side  is  white,  oval  and  very  delicate 
and  is  tight-stretched  when  the  abdomen  is 
raised  and  flabby  and  wrinkled  when  the  ab- 
domen is  lowered.  In  its  tense  state  it  seems 
capable  of  vibration  and  of  increasing  the 
sound. 

The  song,  modulated  and  subdivided  into 
strophes,  suggests  that  of  the  Common 
Cicada,  but  is  much  less  objectionable.  Its 
lack  of  shrillness  may  well  be  due  to  the 
absence  of  any  sound-chambers.  Other 
things  being  equal,  cymbals  vibrating  unco- 
vered cannot  possess  the  same  intensity  of 
sound  as  those  vibrating  at  the  far  end  of  an 
echoing  vestibule.  The  noisy  Ash  Cicada 
also,  it  is  true,  lacks  that  vestibule;  but  he 
72 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

amply  makes  up  for  its  absence  by  the 
enormous  resonator  of  his  belly. 

I  have  never  seen  the  third  Cicada, 
sketched  by  Reaumur  and  described  by 
Olivier  1  under  the  name  of  C.  tomentosa. 
The  species  is  known  in  Provence,  so  this  and 
that  one  tells  me,  by  the  name  of  the  Cigalon, 
or  rather  Cigaloun,  the  Little  Cigale  or 
Cicada.  This  designation  is  unknown  in  my 
neighbourhood. 

I  possess  two  other  specimens  which  Re- 
aumur probably  confused  with  the  one  of 
which  he  gives  us  a  drawing.  One  is  the 
Black  Cicada  (C.  atra,  OLIV.)  ,  whom  I  came 
across  only  once;  the  other  is  the  Pigmy  Ci- 
cada (C.  pygmaa,  OLIV.),  whom  I  have 
picked  up  pretty  often.  I  will  say  a  few 
words  about  this  last  one. 

He  is  the  smallest  member  of  the  genus 
in  my  district,  the  size  of  an  average  Gad-fly, 
and  measures  about  three-quarters  of  an  inch 
in  length.  His  cymbals  are  transparent,  with 
three  opaque  veins,  are  scarcely  sheltered  by 

1  Guillaume  Antoine  Olivier  (1756-1814),  a  distin- 
guished French  entomologist,  author  of  an  Histoire  na- 
turelle  des  coleopteres,  in  six  volumes  (1789-1808),  and 
part  author  of  the  nine  volumes  devoted  to  a  Diction- 
naire  de  I'histoire  naturelle  des  insectes  in  the  Ency- 
clopedic methodique  (1789-1819). — Translator's  Note. 

73 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

a  fold  in  the  skin  and  are  in  full  view,  with- 
out any  sort  of  entrance-lobby  or  sound- 
chamber.  I  may  remark,  in  terminating  our 
survey,  that  the  entrance-lobby  exists  only  in 
the  Common  Cicada ;  all  the  others  are  with- 
out it. 

The  dampers  are  separated  by  a  wide  in- 
terval and  allow  the  chapels  to  open  wide. 
The  mirrors  are  comparatively  large.  Their 
shape  suggests  the  outline  of  a  kidney-bean. 
The  abdomen  does  not  heave  when  the  insect 
sings;  it  remains  stationary,  like  the  Ash 
Cicada's.  Hence  a  lack  of  variety  in  the 
melody  of  both. 

The  Pigmy  Cicada's  song  is  a  monotonous 
rattle,  pitched  in  a  shrill  key,  but  faint  and 
hardly  perceptible  a  few  steps  away  in  the 
calm  of  our  enervating  July  afternoons.  If 
ever  a  fancy  seized  him  to  forsake  his  sun- 
scorched  bushes  and  to  come  and  settle  down 
in  force  in  my  cool  plane-trees — and  I  wish 
that  he  would,  for  I  should  much  like  to 
study  him  more  closely — this  pretty  little 
Cicada  would  not  disturb  my  solitude  as  the 
frenzied  Cacan  does. 

We  have  now  ploughed  our  way  through 
the  descriptive  part;  we  know  the  instrument 
of  sound  so  far  as  its  structure  is  concerned. 

74 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

In  conclusion,  let  us  ask  ourselves  the  object 
of  these  musical  orgies.  What  is  the  use  of 
all  this  noise  ?  One  reply  is  bound  to  come  : 
it  is  the  call  of  the  males  summoning  their 
mates;  it  is  the  lovers'  cantata. 

I  will  allow  myself  to  discuss  this  answer, 
which  is  certainly  a  very  natural  one.  For 
fifteen  years  the  Common  Cicada  and  his 
shrill  associate,  the  Cacan,  have  thrust  their 
society  upon  me.  Every  summer  for  two 
months  I  have  them  before  my  eyes,  I  have 
them  in  my  ears.  Though  I  may  not  listen 
to  them  gladly,  I  observe  them  with  a  cert- 
ain zeal.  I  see  them  ranged  in  rows  on 
the  smooth  bark  of  the  plane-trees,  all  with 
their  heads  upwards,  both  sexes  interspersed 
with  a  few  inches  between  them. 

With  their  suckers  driven  into  the  tree, 
they  drink,  motionless.  As  the  sun  turns 
and  moves  the  shadow,  they  also  turn  around 
the  branch  with  slow  lateral  steps  and  make 
for  the  best-lighted  and  hottest  surface. 
Whether  they  be  working  their  suckers  or 
moving  their  quarters,  they  never  cease 
singing. 

Are  we  to  take  the  endless  cantilena  for 
a  passionate  call?  I  am  not  sure.  In  the 
assembly  the  two  sexes  are  side  by  side ;  and 
75 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

you  do  not  spend  months  on  end  in  calling 
to  some  one  who  is  at  your  elbow.  Then 
again,  I  never  see  a  female  come  rushing 
into  the  midst  of  the  very  noisiest  orchestra. 
Sight  is  enough  as  a  prelude  to  marriage 
here,  for  it  is  excellent;  the  wooer  has  no 
use  for  an  everlasting  declaration :  the  wooed 
is  his  next-door  neighbour. 

Could  it  be  a  means  then  of  charming,  of 
touching  the  indifferent  one?  I  still  have 
my  doubts.  I  notice  no  signs  of  satisfaction 
in  the  females;  I  do  not  see  them  give  the 
least  flutter  nor  sway  from  side  to  side, 
though  the  lovers  clash  their  cymbals  never 
so  loudly. 

My  neighbours  the  peasants  say  that,  at 
harvest-time,  the  Cicada  sings,  "Sego,  sego, 
sego!  Reap,  reap,  reap!"  to  encourage 
them  to  work.  Whether  harvesters  of 
wheat  or  harvesters  of  thought,  we  follow 
the  same  occupation,  one  for  the  bread  of 
the  stomach,  the  other  for  the  bread  of  the 
mind.  I  can  understand  their  explanation, 
therefore;  and  I  accept  it  as  an  instance  of 
charming  simplicity. 

Science  asks  for  something  better;  but  she 
finds  in  the  insect  a  world  that  is  closed  to  us. 
There  is  no  possibility  of  divining  or  even 
76 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

suspecting  the  impression  produced  by  the 
clash  of  the  cymbals  upon  those  who  inspire 
it.  All  that  I  can  say  is  that  their  impassive 
exterior  seems  to  denote  complete  indiffer- 
ence. Let  us  not  insist  too  much :  the  private 
feelings  of  animals  are  an  unfathomable 
mystery. 

Another  reason  for  doubt  is  this:  those 
who  are  sensitive  to  music  always  have  deli- 
cate hearing;  and  this  hearing,  a  watchful 
sentinel,  should  give  warning  of  any  danger 
at  the  least  sound.  The  birds,  those  skilled 
songsters,  have  an  exquisitely  fine  sense  of 
hearing.  Should  a  leaf  stir  in  the  branches, 
should  two  wayfarers  exchange  a  word,  they 
will  be  suddenly  silent,  anxious,  on  their 
guard.  How  far  the  Cicada  is  from  such 
sensibility ! 

He  has  very  clear  sight.  His  large  faceted 
eyes  inform  him  of  what  happens  on  the 
right  and  what  happens  on  the  left;  his 
three  stemmata,  like  little  ruby  telescopes, 
explore  the  expanse  above  his  head.  The 
moment  he  sees  us  coming,  he  is  silent  and 
flies  away.  But  place  yourself  behind  the 
branch  on  which  he  is  singing,  arrange  so 
that  you  are  not  within  reach  of  the  five 
visual  organs;  and  then  talk,  whistle,  clap 
77 


The  'Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

your  hands,  knock  two  stones  together.  For 
much  less  than  this,  a  bird,  though  it  would 
not  see  you,  would  interrupt  its  singing  and 
fly  away  terrified.  The  imperturbable 
Cicada  goes  on  rattling  as  though  nothing 
were  afoot. 

Of  my  experiments  in  this  matter,  I  will 
mention  only  one,  the  most  memorable.  I 
borrow  the  municipal  artillery,  that  is  to 
say,  the  mortars  which  are  made  to  thunder 
forth  on  the  feast  of  the  patron-saint.  The 
gunner  is  delighted  to  load  them  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Cicadae  and  to  come  and  fire 
them  off  at  my  place.  There  are  two  of 
them,  crammed  as  though  for  the  most  sol- 
emn rejoicings.  No  politician  making  the 
circuit  of  his  constituency  in  search  of  re- 
election was  ever  honoured  with  so  much 
powder.  We  are  careful  to  leave  the  wind- 
ows open,  to  save  the  panes  from  break- 
ing. The  two  thundering  engines  are  set  at 
the  foot  of  the  plane-trees  in  front  of  my 
door.  No  precautions  are  taken  to  mask 
them:  the  Cicadae  singing  in  the  branches 
overhead  cannot  see  what  is  happening 
below. 

We  are  an  audience  of  six.  We  wait  for 
a  moment  of  comparative  quiet.  The  num- 
78 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

her  of  singers  is  checked  by  each  of  us,  as 
are  the  depth  and  rhythm  of  the  song.  We 
are  now  ready,  with  ears  pricked  up  to  hear 
what  will  happen  in  the  aerial  orchestra.  The 
mortar  is  let  off,  with  a  noise  like  a  genuine 
thunder-clap. 

There  is  no  excitement  whatever  up  above. 
The  number  of  executants  is  the  same,  the 
rhythm  is  the  same,  the  volume  of  sound  the 
same.  The  six  witnesses  are  unanimous: 
the  mighty  explosion  has  in  no  way  affected 
the  song  of  the  Cicadae.  And  the  second 
mortar  gives  an  exactly  similar  result. 

What  conclusion  are  we  to  draw  from  this 
persistence  of  the  orchestra,  which  is  not  at 
all  surprised  or  put  out  by  the  firing  of  a 
gun  ?  Am  I  to  infer  from  it  that  the  Cicada 
is  deaf?  I  will  certainly  not  venture  so  far 
as  that;  but,  if  any  one  else,  more  daring 
than  I,  were  to  make  the  assertion,  I  should 
really  not  know  what  arguments  to  employ 
in  contradicting  him.  I  should  be  obliged  at 
least  to  concede  that  the  Cicada  is  extremely 
hard  of  hearing  and  that  we  may  apply  to 
him  the  familiar  saying,  to  bawl  like  a  deaf 
man. 

When  the  Blue-winged  Locust  takes  his 
luxurious  fill  of  sunshine  on  a  gravelly  path 
79 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

and  with  his  great  hind-shanks  rubs  the 
rough  edge  of  his  wing-cases;  when  the 
Green  Tree-frog,  suffering  from  as  chronic 
a  cold  as  the  Cacan,  swells  his  throat  among 
the  leaves  and  distends  it  into  a  resounding 
bladder  at  the  approach  of  a  storm,  are 
they  both  calling  to  their  absent  mates  ?  By 
no  means.  The  bow-strokes  of  the  first 
produce  hardly  a  perceptible  stridulation; 
the  throaty  exuberance  of  the  second  is  no 
more  effective :  the  object  of  their  desire  does 
not  come. 

Does  the  insect  need  these  sonorous  out- 
bursts, these  loquacious  avowals,  to  declare 
its  flame?  Consult  the  vast  majority,  whom 
the  meeting  of  the  two  sexes  leaves  silent. 
I  see  in  the  Grasshopper's  fiddle,  the  Tree- 
frog's  bagpipes  and  the  cymbals  of  the 
Cacan  but  so  many  methods  of  expressing 
the  joy  of  living,  the  universal  joy  which 
every  animal  species  celebrates  after  its 
kind. 

If  any  one  were  to  tell  me  that  the  Cicadas 
strum  on  their  noisy  instruments  without  giv- 
ing a  thought  to  the  sound  produced  and  for 
the  sheer  pleasure  of  feeling  themselves 
alive,  just  as  we  rub  our  hands  in  a  moment 
of  satisfaction,  I  should  not  be  greatly 
80 


The  Cicada:  his  Music 

shocked.  That  there  may  be  also  a  second- 
ary object  in  their  concert,  an  object  in  which 
the  dumb  sex  is  interested,  is  quite  possible, 
quite  natural,  though  this  has  not  yet  been 
proved. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   CICADA:   THE   LAYING  AND  THE 
HATCHING   OF   THE   EGGS 

THE  Common  Cicada  entrusts  her  eggs 
to  small  dry  branches.  All  those  which 
Reaumur  examined  and  found  to  be  thus 
tenanted  were  derived  from  the  mulberry- 
tree  :  a  proof  that  the  person  commissioned 
to  collect  these  eggs  in  the  Avignon  district 
was  very  conservative  in  his  methods  of 
search.  In  addition  to  the  mulberry-tree,  I, 
on  the  other  hand,  find  them  on  the  peach, 
the  cherry,  the  willow,  the  Japanese  privet 
and  other  trees.  But  these  are  exceptions. 
The  Cicada  really  favours  something  dif- 
ferent. She  wants,  as  far  as  possible,  tiny 
stalks,  which  may  be  anything  from  the 
thickness  of  a  straw  to  that  of  a  lead-pencil, 
with  a  thin  ring  of  wood  and  plenty  of  pith. 
So  long  as  these  conditions  are  fulfilled,  the 
actual  plant  matters  little.  I  should  have  to 
draw  up  a  list  of  all  the  semiligneous  flora 
82 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

of  the  district  were  I  to  try  and  catalogue 
the  different  supports  used  by  the  Cicada 
when  laying  her  eggs.  I  shall  content  myself 
with  naming  a  few  of  them  in  a  note,  to  show 
the  variety  of  sites  of  which  she  avails  her- 
self.1 

The  sprig  occupied  is  never  lying  on  the 
ground;  it  is  in  a  position  more  or  less  akin 
to  the  perpendicular,  most  often  in  its  na- 
tural place,  sometimes  detached,  but  in  that 
case  sticking  upright  by  accident.  Prefer- 
ence is  given  to  a  good  long  stretch  of 
smooth,  even  stalk,  capable  of  accommo- 
dating the  entire  laying.  My  best  harvests 
are  made  on  the  sprigs  of  Spartium  junceum, 
which  are  like  straws  crammed  with  pith, 
and  especially  on  the  tall  stalks  of 
Asphodelus  cerasiferus,  which  rise  for 
nearly  three  feet  before  spreading  into 
branches. 

The  rule  is  for  the  support,  no  matter 
what  it  is,  to  be  dead  and  quite  dry.  Never- 
theless my  notes  record  a  few  instances  of 

1 1  have  gathered  the  Cicada's  eggs  on  Spartium 
junceum,  or  Spanish  broom;  on  asphodel  (Asphodelus 
cerasiferus)  ;  on  Toad-flax  (Linaria  striata)  ;  on  Cala- 
mintha  nepeta,  or  lesser  calamint;  on  Hirschfeldia 
adpressa;  on  Chondrilla  juncea,  or  common  gum-succory; 
on  garlic  (A Ilium  polyanthum)  ;  on  Asteriscus  spinosus 
and  other  plants. — Author's  Note. 

83 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

eggs  confided  to  stalks  that  are  still  alive, 
with  green  leaves  and  flowers  in  bloom.  It 
is  true  that,  in  these  highly  exceptional 
cases,  the  stalk  itself  is  of  a  pretty  dry 
variety.1 

The  work  performed  by  the  Cicada  con- 
sists of  a  series  of  pricks  such  as  might  be 
made  with  a  pin  if  it  were  driven  downwards 
on  a  slant  and  made  to  tear  the  ligneous 
fibres  and  force  them  up  slightly.  Any  one 
seeing  these  dots  without  knowing  what  pro- 
duced them  would  think  first  of  some  cryp- 
togamous  vegetation,  some  Sphasriacea 
swelling  and  bursting  its  skin  under  the 
growth  of  its  half-emerging  perithecia. 

If  the  stalk  be  uneven,  or  if  several  Cicadae 
have  been  working  one  after  the  other  at 
the  same  spot,  the  distribution  of  the  punc- 
tures becomes  confused  and  the  eye  is  apt  to 
wander  among  them,  unable  to  perceive 
either  the  order  in  which  they  were  made 
or  the  work  of  each  individual.  One  char- 
acteristic is  never  missing,  that  is  the  slanting 
direction  of  the  woody  strip  ploughed  up, 
which  shows  that  the  Cicada  always  works 
in  an  upright  position  and  drives  her  imple- 

1  Calamintha  nepeta,  Hirschfeldia  adpressa. — Author's 
Note. 

84 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

ment  downwards  into  the  twig,  in  a  longi- 
tudinal direction. 

If  the  stalk  be  smooth  and  even  and  also 
of  a  suitable  length,  the  punctures  are  nearly 
equidistant  and  are  not  far  from  being  in 
a  straight  line.  Their  number  varies:  it  is 
small  when  the  mother  is  disturbed  in  her 
operation  and  goes  off  to  continue  her  laying 
elsewhere;  it  amounts  to  thirty  or  forty 
when  the  line  of  dots  represents  the  total 
amount  of  eggs  laid.  The  actual  length  of 
the  row  for  the  same  number  of  thrusts  like- 
wise varies.  A  few  examples  will  enlighten 
us  in  this  respect:  a  row  of  thirty  measures 
28  centimetres  *  on  the  toad-flax,  30  2  on  the 
gum-succory  and  only  12  3  on  the  asphodel. 

Do  not  imagine  that  these  variations  in 
length  have  to  do  with  the  nature  of  the 
support:  there  are  plenty  of  instances  that 
prove  the  contrary;  and  the  asphodel,  which 
in  one  case  shows  us  the  punctures  that  are 
closest  together,  will  in  other  cases  show  us 
those  which  are  farthest  removed.  The  di- 
stance between  the  dots  depends  on  cir- 
cumstances which  cannot  be  explained,  but 

1 10.9  inches. — Translator's  Note. 

'11.7  inches. — Translator's  Note. 

1 4.6  inches. — Translator's  Note. 

85 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

especially  on  the  caprice  of  the  mother,  who 
concentrates  her  laying  more  at  one  spot  and 
less  at  another  according  to  her  fancy.  I 
have  found  the  average  measurement  be- 
tween one  hole  and  the  next  to  be  8  to  10 
millimetres.1 

Each  of  these  abrasions  is  the  entrance  to 
a  slanting  cell,  usually  bored  in  the  pithy  por- 
tion of  the  stalk.  This  entrance  is  not  closed, 
save  by  the  bunch  of  ligneous  fibres  which 
are  parted  at  the  time  of  the  laying  but 
which  come  together  again  when  the  double 
saw  of  the  ovipositor  is  withdrawn.  At  most, 
in  certain  cases,  but  not  always;  you  see 
gleaming  through  the  threads  of  this  barri- 
cade a  tiny  glistening  speck,  looking  like  a 
glaze  of  dried  albumen.  This  can  be  only 
an  insignificant  trace  of  some  albuminous  se- 
cretion which  accompanies  the  eggs  or  else 
facilitates  the  play  of  the  double  boring-file. 

Just  under  the  prick  lies  the  cell,  a  very 
narrow  passage  which  occupies  almost  the 
entire  distance  between  its  pin-hole  and  that 
of  the  preceding  cell.  Sometimes  even  there 
is  no  partition  separating  the  two;  the  upper 
floor  runs  into  the  lower;  and  the  eggs, 
though  inserted  through  several  entrances, 

1 .31  to  .39  inch. — Translator's  Note. 
86 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

are  arranged  in  an  uninterrupted  row.    Usu- 
ally, however,  the  cells  are  distinct. 

Their  contents  vary  greatly.  I  count  from 
six  to  fifteen  eggs  in  each.  The  average  is 
ten.  As  the  number  of  cells  of  a  complete 
laying  is  between  thirty  and  forty,  we  see 
that  the  Cicada  disposes  of  three  to  four 
hundred  eggs.  Reaumur  arrived  at  the  same 
figures  from  his  examination  of  the  ovaries. 

A  fine  family  truly,  capable  by  sheer  num- 
bers of  coping  with  very  grave  risks  of  de- 
struction. Yet  I  do  not  see  that  the  adult 
Cicada  is  in  greater  danger  than  any  other 
insect:  he  has  a  vigilant  eye,  can  get 
started  quickly,  is  a  rapid  flyer  and  inha- 
bits heights  at  which  the  cut-throats  of  the 
meadows  are  not  to  be  feared.  The  Spar- 
row, it  is  true,  is  very  fond  of  him.  From 
time  to  time,  after  careful  strategy,  the  ene- 
my swoops  upon  the  plane-trees  from  the 
neighbouring  roof  and  grabs  the  frenzied 
fiddler.  A  few  pecks  distributed  right  and 
left  cut  him  up  into  quarters,  which  form 
delicious  morsels  for  the  nestlings.  But 
how  often  does  not  the  bird  return  with  an 
empty  bag!  The  wary  Cicada  sees  the  attack 
coming,  empties  his  bladder  into  his  assail- 
ant's eyes  and  decamps. 
87 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

No,  it  is  not  the  Sparrow  that  makes  it 
necessary  for  the  Cicada  to  give  birth  to  so 
numerous  a  progeny.  The  danger  lies  else- 
where. We  shall  see  how  terrible  it  can  be 
at  hatching-  and  also  at  laying-time. 

Two  or  three  weeks  after  the  emergence 
from  the  ground,  that  is  to  say,  about  the 
middle  of  July,  the  Cicada  busies  herself 
with  her  eggs.  In  order  to  witness  the  lay- 
ing without  trusting  too  much  to  luck,  I  had 
taken  certain  precautions  which  seemed  to 
me  to  assure  success.  The  insect's  favourite 
support  is  the  dry  asphodel:  I  had  learnt 
that  from  earlier  observations.  This  plant  is 
also  the  one  that  lends  itself  best  to  my 
plans,  owing  to  its  long,  smooth  stalk.  Now, 
during  the  first  years  of  my  residence  here, 
I  replaced  the  thistles  in  my  enclosure  by 
other  native  plants,  of  a  less  forbidding 
character.  The  asphodel  is  among  the  new 
occupants  and  is  just  what  I  want  to-day.  I 
therefore  leave  last  year's  dry  stalks  where 
they  are;  and,  when  the  proper  season  comes, 
I  inspect  them  daily. 

I  have  not  long  to  wait.  As  early  as  the 
1 5th  of  July,  I  find  as  many  Cicadae  as  I 
could  wish  installed  on  the  asphodels,  busily 
laying.  The  mother  is  always  alone.  Each 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

has  a  stalk  to  herself,  without  fear  of  any 
competition  that  might  disturb  the  delicate 
process  of  inoculation.  When  the  first  occu- 
pant is  gone,  another  may  come,  followed  by 
others  yet.  There  is  ample  room  for  all; 
but  each  in  succession  wishes  to  be  alone. 
For  the  rest,  there  is  no  quarrelling  among 
them;  things  happen  most  peacefully.  If 
some  mother  appears  and  finds  the  place  al- 
ready taken,  she  flies  away  so  soon  as  she 
discovers  her  mistake  and  looks  around  else- 
where. 

The  Cicada,  when  laying,  always  carries 
her  head  upwards,  an  attitude  which,  for  that 
matter,  she  adopts  in  other  circumstances. 
She  lets  you  examine  her  quite  closely,  even 
under  the  magnifying-glass,  so  greatly  ab- 
sorbed is  she  in  her  task.  The  ovipositor, 
which  is  about  two-fifths  of  an  inch  long,  is 
buried  in  the  stalk,  slantwise.  So  perfect  is 
the  tool  that  the  boring  does  not  seem  to  call 
for  very  laborious  operations.  I  see  the 
mother  give  a  jerk  or  two  and  dilate  and 
contract  the  tip  of  her  abdomen  with  fre- 
quent palpitations.  That  is  all.  The  drill 
with  its  double  gimlets  working  alternately 
digs  and  disappears  into  the  wood,  with  a 
gentle  and  almost  imperceptible  movement. 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Nothing  particular  happens  during  the  lay- 
ing. The  insect  is  motionless.  Ten  minutes 
or  so  elapse  between  the  first  bite  of  the  tool 
and  the  complete  filling  of  the  cell. 

The  ovipositor  is  then  withdrawn  with 
deliberate  slowness,  so  as  not  to  warp  it. 
The  boring-hole  closes  of  itself,  as  the  lig- 
neous fibres  come  together  again,  and  the 
insect  climbs  a  little  higher,  about  as  far  as 
the  length  of  its  instrument,  in  a  straight 
line.  Here  we  see  a  new  punch  of  the  gimlet 
and  a  new  chamber  receiving  its  half-a-score 
of  eggs.  In  this  fashion  the  laying  works  its 
way  up  from  bottom  to  top. 

Once  we  know  these  facts,  we  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  understand  the  remarkable  arrange- 
ment controlling  the  work.  The  punctures, 
the  entrances  to  the  cells,  are  almost  equidi- 
stant, because  each  time  the  Cicada  ascends 
about  the  same  height,  roughly  the  length 
of  her  ovipositor.  Very  rapid  in  flight,  she  is 
a  very  lazy  walker.  All  that  you  ever  see 
her  do  on  the  live  branch  on  which  she  drinks 
is  to  move  to  a  sunnier  spot  close  by,  with  a 
grave  and  almost  solemn  step.  On  the  dead 
branch  where  the  eggs  are  laid  she  re- 
tains her  leisurely  habits,  even  exagger- 
ating them,  in  view  of  the  importance  of 
90 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

the  operation.  She  moves  as  little  as  need 
be,  shifting  her  place  only  just  enough  to 
avoid  letting  two  adjoining  cells  encroach 
upon  each  other.  The  measure  of  the  up- 
ward movement  is  provided  approximately 
by  the  length  of  the  bore. 

Also  the  holes  are  arranged  in  a  straight 
line  when  their  number  is  not  great.  Why 
indeed  should  the  laying  mother  veer  to  the 
left  or  right  on  a  stalk  which  has  the  same 
qualities  all  over?  Loving  the  sun,  she  has 
selected  the  side  of  the  stalk  that  is  most 
exposed  to  it.  So  long  as  she  feels  on  her 
back  a  douche  of  heat,  her  supreme  joy,  she 
will  take  good  care  not  to  leave  the  situation 
which  she  considers  so  delightful  for  another 
upon  which  the  sun's  rays  do  not  fall  so 
directly. 

But  the  laying  takes  a  long  time  when  it  is 
all  performed  on  the  same  support.  Allow- 
ing ten  minutes  to  a  cell,  the  series  of  forty 
which  I  have  sometimes  seen  represents  a 
period  of  six  to  seven  hours.  The  sun  there- 
fore can  alter  its  position  considerably  before 
the  Cicada  has  finished  her  work.  In  that 
case  the  rectilinear  direction  becomes  bent 
into  a  spiral  curve.  The  mother  turns 
around  her  stalk  as  the  sun  itself  turns ;  and 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

her  row  of  pricks  suggests  the  course  of  the 
gnomon's  shadow  on  a  cylindrical  sundial. 

Very  often,  while  the  Cicada  is  absorbed 
in  her  work  of  motherhood,  an  infinitesimal 
Gnat,  herself  the  bearer  of  a  boring-tool, 
labours  to  exterminate  the  eggs  as  fast  as 
they  are  placed.  Reaumur  knew  her.  In 
nearly  every  bit  of  stick  that  he  examined  he 
found  her  grub,  which  caused  him  to  make 
a  mistake  at  the  beginning  of  his  researches. 
But  he  did  not  see,  he  could  not  see  the  im- 
pudent ravager  at  work.  It  is  a  Chalcidid 
some  four  to  five  millimetres  x  in  length,  all 
black,  with  knotty  antennae,  thickening  a  little 
towards  their  tips.  The  unsheathed  boring- 
tool  is  planted  in  the  under  part  of  the  ab- 
domen, near  the  middle,  and  sticks  out  at 
right  angles  to  the  body,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  Leucospes,2  the  scourge  of  certain  mem- 
bers of  the  Bee-tribe.  Having  neglected  to 
capture  the  insect,  I  do  not  know  what  name 
the  nomenclators  have  bestowed  upon  it,  if 
indeed  the  dwarf  that  exterminates  Cicadse 
has  been  catalogued  at  all. 

What  I  do  know  something  about  is  its 

'.156  to  .195  inch. — Translator's  Note. 

*  Cf.  The  Mason-bees,  by  J.  Henri  Fabre,  translated  by 
Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  chap.  xi. — Translator's 
Note. 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

calm  temerity,  its  brazen  audacity  in  the  im- 
mediate presence  of  the  colossus  who  could 
crush  it  by  simply  stepping  on  it.  I  have  seen 
as  many  as  three  exploiting  the  unhappy 
mother  at  the  same  time.  They  keep  close 
behind  each  other,  either  working  their 
probes  or  awaiting  the  propitious  moment. 

The  Cicada  has  just  stocked  a  cell  and  is 
climbing  a  little  higher  to  bore  the  next. 
One  of  the  brigands  runs  to  the  abandoned 
spot;  and  here,  almost  under  the  claws  of 
the  giantess,  without  the  least  fear,  as  though 
she  were  at  home  and  accomplishing  a  meri- 
torious act,  she  unsheathes  her  probe  and  in- 
serts it  into  the  column  of  eggs,  not  through 
the  hole  already  made,  which  bristles  with 
broken  fibres,  but  through  some  lateral 
crevice.  The  tool  works  slowly,  because  of 
the  resistance  of  the  wood,  which  is  almost 
intact.  The  Cicada  has  time  to  stock  the  next 
floor  above. 

As  soon  as  she  has  finished,  a  Gnat  stand- 
ing immediately  behind  her,  waiting  to  per- 
form her  task,  takes  her  place  and  comes  and 
introduces  her  own  exterminating  germ.  By 
the  time  that  the  mother  has  exhausted  her 
ovaries  and  flies  away,  most  of  her  cells  have, 
in  this  fashion,  received  the  alien  egg  which 
93 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

will  be  the  ruin  of  their  contents.  A  small, 
quick-hatching  grub,  one  only  to  each 
chamber,  generously  fed  on  a  round  dozen 
raw  eggs,  will  take  the  place  of  the  Cicada's 
family. 

O  deplorable  mother,  have  centuries  of 
experience  taught  you  nothing?  Surely,  with 
those  excellent  eyes  of  yours,  you  cannot  fail 
to  see  the  terrible  sappers,  when  they  flutter 
around  you,  preparing  their  felon  stroke ! 
You  see  them,  you  know  that  they  are  at 
your  heels;  and  you  remain  impassive  and 
let  yourself  be  victimized.  Turn  round,  you 
easy-going  colossus,  and  crush  the  pigmies! 
But  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort:  you  are 
incapable  of  altering  your  instincts,  even  to 
lighten  your  share  of  maternal  sorrow. 

The  Common  Cicada's  eggs  are  of  a 
gleaming  ivory-white.  Elongated  in  shape 
and  conical  at  both  ends,  they  might  be  com- 
pared with  miniature  weavers'-shuttles. 
They  are  two  millimetres  and  a  half  long 
by  half  a  millimetre  wide.1  They  are  ar- 
ranged in  a  row,  slightly  overlapping.  The 
Ash  Cicada's,  which  are  a  trifle  smaller,  are 
packed  in  regular  parcels  mimicking  mi- 
croscopic bundles  of  cigars.  We  will  devote 

1  About  iV  x  ^j  inch.— Translator's  Note. 
94 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

our  attention  exclusively  to  the  first;  their 
story  will  tell  us  that  of  the  others. 

September  is  not  over  before  the  gleaming 
ivory-white  gives  place  to  straw-colour.  In 
the  early  days  of  October  there  appear,  in 
the  front  part,  two  little  dark-brown  spots, 
round  and  clearly-defined,  which  are  the 
ocular  specks  of  the  tiny  creature  in  course  of 
formation.  These  two  shining  eyes,  which 
almost  look  at  you,  combined  with  the  cone- 
shaped  fore-end,  give  the  eggs  an  appearance 
of  finless  fishes,  the  very  tiniest  of  fishes,  for 
which  a  walnut-shell  would  make  a  suitable 
bowl. 

About  the  same  period,  I  often  see  on  my 
asphodels  and  those  on  the  hills  around  indi- 
cations of  a  recent  hatching.  These  indica- 
tions take  the  form  of  certain  discarded 
clothes,  certain  rags  left  on  the  threshold  by 
the  new-born  grubs  moving  their  quarters  and 
eager  to  reach  a  new  lodging.  We  shall 
learn  in  an  instant  what  these  cast  skins 
mean. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  my  visits,  which 
were  assiduous  enough  to  deserve  a  better 
result,  I  have  never  succeeded  in  seeing  the 
young  Cicadas  come  out  of  their  cells.  My 
home  breeding  prospers  no  better.  For  two 

95 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

years  running,  at  the  right  time,  I  collect  in 
boxes,  tubes  and  jars  a  hundred  twigs  of  all 
sorts  colonized  with  Cicada-eggs ;  not  one  of 
them  shows  me  what  I  am  so  anxious  to  see, 
the  emergence  of  the  budding  Cicadae. 

Reaumur  experienced  the  same  disappoint- 
ment. He  tells  us  how  all  the  eggs  sent  by 
his  friends  proved  failures,  even  when  he 
carried  them  in  a  glass  tube  in  his  fob  to  give 
them  a  mild  temperature.  O  my  revered 
master,  neither  the  warm  shelter  of  our 
studies  nor  the  niggardly  heating-apparatus 
of  our  breeches  is  enough  in  this  case  !  What 
is  needed  is  that  supreme  stimulant,  the 
kisses  of  the  sun;  what  is  needed,  after  the 
morning  coolness,  which  already  is  sharp 
enough  to  make  us  shiver,  is  the  sudden  glow 
of  a  glorious  autumn  day,  summer's  last 
farewell. 

It  was  in  such  circumstances  as  these, 
when  a  bright  sun  supplied  a  violent  con- 
trast to  a  cold  night,  that  I  used  to  find  signs 
of  hatching;  but  I  always  came  too  late:  the 
young  Cicadae  were  gone.  At  most  I  some- 
times happened  to  find  one  hanging  by  a 
thread  from  his  native  stalk  and  struggling 
in  mid-air.  I  thought  him  caught  in  some 
shred  of  cobweb. 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

At  last,  on  the  2yth  of  October,  despairing 
of  success,  I  gathered  the  asphodels  in  the 
enclosure  and,  taking  the  armful  of  dry 
stalks  on  which  the  Cicada  had  laid,  carried 
it  up  to  my  study.  Before  abandoning  all 
hope,  I  proposed  once  more  to  examine  the 
cells  and  their  contents.  It  was  a  cold  morn- 
ing. The  first  fire  of  the  season  had  been 
lit.  I  put  my  little  bundle  on  a  chair  in  front 
the  hearth,  without  any  intention  of  try- 
ing the  effect  of  the  hot  flames  upon  the 
nests.  The  sticks  which  I  meant  to  split 
open  one  by  one  were  within  easier  reach 
of  my  hand  there.  That  was  the  only  con- 
sideration which  made  me  choose  that  par- 
ticular spot. 

Well,  while  I  was  passing  my  magnifying- 
glass  over  a  split  stem,  the  hatching  which  I 
no  longer  hoped  to  see  suddenly  took  place 
beside  me.  My  bundle  became  alive;  the 
young  larvae  emerged  from  their  cells  by  the 
dozen.  Their  number  was  so  great  that  my 
professional  instincts  were  amply  satisfied. 
The  eggs  were  exactly  ripe;  and  the  blaze  on 
the  hearth,  bright  and  penetrating,  produced 
the  same  effect  as  sunlight  out  of  doors.  I 
lost  no  time  in  profiting  by  this  unexpected 
stroke  of  luck. 

97 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

At  the  aperture  of  the  egg-chamber, 
among  the  torn  fibres,  a  tiny  cone-shaped 
body  appears,  with  two  large  black  eye-spots. 
To  look  at,  it  is  absolutely  the  fore-part  of 
the  egg,  which,  as  I  have  said,  resembles  the 
front  of  a  very  minute  fish.  One  would  think 
that  the  egg  had  changed  its  position,  climb- 
ing from  the  bottom  of  the  basin  to  the 
orifice  of  the  little  passage.  But  an  egg  to 
move!  A  germ  to  start  walking!  Such  a 
thing  was  impossible,  had  never  been  known; 
I  must  be  suffering  from  an  illusion.  I  split 
open  the  stalk;  and  the  mystery  is  revealed. 
The  real  eggs,  though  a  little  disarranged, 
have  not  changed  their  position.  They 
are  empty,  reduced  to  transparent  bags, 
torn  considerably  at  their  fore-ends.  From 
them  has  issued  the  very  singular  organ- 
ism whose  salient  characteristics  I  will  now 
set  forth. 

In  its  general  shape,  the  configuration  of 
the  head  and  the  large  black  eyes,  the  crea- 
ture, even  more  than  the  egg,  presents  the 
appearance  of  an  extremely  small  fish.  A 
mock  ventral  fin  accentuates  the  likeness. 
This  sort  of  oar  comes  from  the  fore-legs, 
which,  cased  in  a  special  sheath,  lie  back- 
wards, stretched  against  each  other  in  a 
98 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

straight  line.  Its  feeble  power  of  move- 
ment must  help  the  grub  to  come  out  of  the 
egg-shell  and — a  more  difficult  matter — out 
of  the  fibrous  passage.  Withdrawing  a  little 
way  from  the  body  and  then  returning,  this 
lever  provides  a  purchase  for  progression  by 
means  of  the  terminal  claws,  which  are  al- 
ready well-developed.  The  four  other  legs 
are  still  wrapped  in  the  common  envelope 
and  are  absolutely  inert.  This  applies  also 
to  the  antennae,  which  can  hardly  be  per- 
ceived through  the  lens.  Altogether,  the 
organism  newly  issued  from  the  egg  is  an 
exceedingly  small,  boat-shaped  body,  with  a 
single  oar  pointing  backwards  on  the  ventral 
surface  and  formed  of  the  two  fore-legs 
joined  together.  The  segmentation  is  very 
clearly  marked,  especially  on  the  abdomen. 
Lastly,  the  whole  thing  is  quite  smooth,  with 
not  a  hair  on  it. 

What  name  shall  I  give  to  this  initial  state 
of  the  Cicada,  a  state  so  strange  and  unfore- 
seen and  hitherto  unsuspected?  Must  I 
knock  Greek  words  together  and  fashion 
some  uncouth  expression?  I  shall  do  nothing 
of  the  sort,  convinced  as  I  am  that  barbarous 
terms  are  only  a  cumbrous  impediment  to 
science.  I  shall  simply  call  it  "  the  primary 
99 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

larva,"  as  I  did  in  the  case  of  the  Oil-beetles, 
the  Leucospes  and  the  Anthrax.1 

The  form  of  the  primary  larva  in  the 
Cicadae  is  eminently  well-suited  for  the  emer- 
gence. The  passage  in  which  the  egg  is 
hatched  is  very  narrow  and  leaves  just  room 
for  one  to  go  out.  Besides,  the  eggs  are  ar- 
ranged in  a  row,  not  end  to  end,  but  partly 
overlapping.  The  creature  coming  from  the 
farther  ranks  has  to  make  its  way  through 
the  remains  of  the  eggs  already  hatched  in 
front  of  it.  To  the  narrowness  of  the  cor- 
ridor is  added  the  block  caused  by  the  empty 
shells. 

In  these  conditions,  the  larva  in  the  form 
which  it  will  have  presently,  when  it  has  torn 
its  temporary  scabbard,  would  not  be  able 
to  clear  the  difficult  pass.  Irksome  antennae, 
long  legs  spreading  far  from  the  axis  of  the 
body,  picks  with  curved  and  pointed  ends  that 
catch  on  the  road:  all  these  are  in  the  way 
of  a  speedy  deliverance.  The  eggs  in  one 
cell  hatch  almost  simultaneously.  It  is  ne- 
cessary that  the  new-born  grubs  in  front 
should  move  out  as  fast  as  they  can  and  make 

*  Cf.  The  Life  of  the  Fly,  by  J.  Henri  Fabre,  translated 
by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  chaps,  ii,  iii  and  v. — 
Translator's  Note. 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

room  for  those  behind.  This  necessitates 
the  smooth,  boatlike  form,  devoid  of  all  pro- 
jections, which  makes  its  way  insinuatingly, 
like  a  wedge.  The  primary  larva,  with  its 
different  appendages  closely  fixed  to  its  body 
inside  a  common  sheath,  with  its  boat  shape 
and  its  single  oar  possessing  a  certain  power 
of  movement,  has  its  part  to  play :  its  business 
is  to  emerge  into  daylight  through  a  difficult 
passage. 

Its  task  is  soon  done.  Here  comes  one  of 
the  emigrants,  showing  its  head  with  the 
great  eyes  and  lifting  the  broken  fibres  of  the 
aperture.  It  works  its  way  farther  and  far- 
ther out,  with  a  progressive  movement  so 
slow  that  the  lens  does  not  easily  perceive  it. 
In  half  an  hour  at  soonest,  the  boat-shaped 
object  appears  entirely;  but  it  is  still  caught 
by  its  hinder  end  in  the  exit-hole. 

The  emergence-jacket  splits  without  fur- 
ther delay;  and  the  creature  sheds  its  skin 
from  front  to  back.  It  is  now  the  normal 
larva,  the  only  one  that  Reaumur  knew.  The 
cast  slough  forms  a  suspensory  thread,  ex- 
panding into  a  little  cup  at  its  free  end.  In 
this  cup  is  contained  the  tip  of  the  abdomen 
of  the  larva,  which,  before  dropping  to  the 
ground,  treats  itself  to  a  sun-bath,  hardens 

101 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

itself,  kicks  about  and  tries  its  strength, 
swinging  indolently  at  the  end  of  its  life- 
line. 

This  "  little  Flea,"  as  Reaumur  calls  it, 
first  white,  then  amber,  is  at  all  points  the 
larva  that  will  dig  into  the  ground.  The 
antennae,  of  fair  length,  are  free  and  wave 
about;  the  legs  work  their  joints;  those  in 
front  open  and  shut  their  claws,  which  are 
the  strongest  part  of  them.  I  know  hardly 
any  more  curious  sight  than  that  of  this 
miniature  gymnast  hanging  by  its  hinder- 
part,  swinging  at  the  least  breath  of  wind  and 
making  ready  in  the  air  for  its  somersault 
into  the  world.  The  period  of  suspension 
varies.  Some  larvae  let  themselves  drop  in 
half  an  hour  or  so ;  others  remain  for  hours 
in  their  long-stemmed  cup;  and  some  even 
wait  until  the  next  day. 

Whether  quick  or  slow,  the  creature's  fall 
leaves  the  cord,  the  slough  of  the  primary 
larva,  swinging.  When  the  whole  brood  has 
disappeared,  the  orifice  of  the  cell  is  thus 
hung  with  a  cluster  of  short,  fine  threads, 
twisted  and  rumpled,  like  dried  white  of 
egg.  Each  opens  into  a  little  cup  at  its  free 
end.  They  are  very  delicate  and  ephemeral 
relics,  which  you  cannot  touch  without  de- 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

stroying  them.  The  slightest  wind  soon 
blows  them  away. 

Let  us  return  to  the  larva.  Sooner  or 
later,  without  losing  much  time,  it  drops  to 
the  ground,  either  by  accident  or  of  its  own 
accord.  The  infinitesimal  creature,  no 
bigger  than  a  Flea,  has  saved  its  tender,  bud- 
ding flesh  from  the  rough  earth  by  swinging 
on  its  cord.  It  has  hardened  itself  in  the 
air,  that  luxurious  eiderdown.  It  now 
plunges  into  the  stern  realities  of  life. 

I  see  a  thousand  dangers  ahead  of  it. 
The  merest  breath  of  wind  can  blow  the 
atom  here,  on  the  impenetrable  rock,  or 
there,  on  the  ocean  of  a  rut  where  a  little 
water  stagnates,  or  elsewhere,  on  the  sand, 
the  starvation  region  where  nothing  grows, 
or  again  on  a  clay  soil,  too  tough  for  dig- 
ging. These  fatal  expanses  are  frequent; 
and  so  are  the  gusts  that  blow  one  away  in 
this  windy  season  which  has  already  set  in 
unpleasantly  by  the  end  of  October. 

The  feeble  creature  needs  very  soft  soil, 
easily  entered,  so  as  to  obtain  shelter  im- 
mediately. The  cold  days  are  drawing  nigh ; 
the  frosts  are  coming.  To  wander  about  on 
the  surface  of  the  ground  for  any  length  of 
time  would  expose  us  to  grave  dangers.  We 
103 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

had  better  descend  into  the  earth  without 
delay;  and  that  to  a  good  depth.  This  one 
imperative  condition  of  safety  is  in  many 
cases  impossible  to  realize.  What  can  little 
Flea's-claws  do  against  rock,  flint  or  hard- 
ened clay?  The  tiny  creature  must  perish 
unless  it  can  find  an  underground  refuge  in 
time. 

The  first  establishment,  which  is  exposed 
to  so  many  evil  chances,  is,  so  everything 
shows  us,  a  cause  of  great  mortality  in  the 
Cicada's  family.  Already  the  little  black 
parasite,  the  destroyer  of  the  eggs,  has  told 
us  how  expedient  it  is  for  the  mothers  to  ac- 
complish a  long  and  fertile  laying;  the  diffi- 
culties attendant  upon  the  initial  installation 
in  their  turn  explain  why  the  maintenance  of 
the  race  at  its  suitable  strength  requires 
three  or  four  hundred  eggs  to  be  laid  by  each 
of  them.  Subject  to  excessive  spoliation,  the 
Cicada  is  fertile  to  excess.  She  averts  by  the 
richness  of  her  ovaries  the  multitude  of 
dangers  threatening  her. 

In  the  experiment  which  it  remains  for 
me  to  make,  I  will  at  least  spare  the  larva 
the  difficulties  of  the  first  installation.  I  se- 
lect some  very  soft,  very  black  heath-mould 
and  pass  it  through  a  fine  sieve.  Its  dark 
104 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

colour  will  enable  me  more  easily  to  find  the 
little  yellow  creature  when  I  want  to  see 
what  is  happening;  and  its  softness  will  suit 
the  feeble  mattock.  I  heap  it  not  too  tightly 
in  a  glass  pot;  I  plant  a  little  tuft  of  thyme 
in  it;  I  sow  a  few  grains  of  wheat.  There 
is  no  hole  at  the  bottom  of  the  pot,  though 
there  ought  to  be,  if  the  thyme  and  the  wheat 
are  to  thrive;  the  captives,  however,  finding 
the  hole,  would  be  certain  to  escape  through 
it.  The  plantation  will  suffer  from  this  lack 
of  drainage;  but  at  least  I  am  certain  of 
finding  my  animals  with  the  aid  of  my  mag- 
nifying-glass  and  plenty  of  patience.  Be- 
sides, I  shall  indulge  in  no  excesses  in  the 
matter  of  irrigation,  supplying  only  enough 
water  to  prevent  the  plants  from  dying. 

When  everything  is  ready  and  the  corn  is 
beginning  to  put  forth  its  first  shoots,  I  place 
six  young  Cicada-larva?  on  the  surface  of  the 
soil.  The  puny  grubs  run  about  and  explore 
the  earthy  bed  pretty  nimbly;  some  make 
unsuccessful  attempts  to  climb  the  side  of  the 
pot.  Not  one  seems  inclined  to  bury  itself, 
so  much  so  that  I  anxiously  wonder  what  the 
object  can  be  of  these  active  and  prolonged 
investigations.  Two  hours  pass  and  the  rest- 
less roaming  never  ceases. 
105 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

What  is  it  that  they  want  ?  Food  ?  I  offer 
them  some  little  bulbs  with  bundles  of  sprout- 
ing roots,  a  few  bits  of  leaves  and  some  fresh 
blades  of  grass.  Nothing  tempts  them  nor 
induces  them  to  stand  still.  They  appear  to 
be  selecting  a  favourable  spot  before  de- 
scending underground.  These  hesitating  ex- 
plorations are  superfluous  on  the  soil  which 
I  have  industriously  prepared  for  them :  the 
whole  surface,  so  it  seems  to  me,  lends  it- 
self capitally  to  the  work  which  I  expect  to 
see  them  accomplish.  Apparently  it  is  not 
enough. 

Under  natural  conditions,  a  preliminary 
run  round  may  well  be  indispensable.  There, 
sites  as  soft  as  my  bed  of  heath-mould, 
purged  of  all  hard  bodies  and  finely  sifted, 
are  rare.  There,  on  the  other  hand,  coarse 
soils,  on  which  the  microscopic  mattock  can 
make  no  impression,  are  frequent.  The  grub 
has  to  roam  at  random,  to  walk  about  for 
some  time  before  finding  a  suitable  place. 
No  doubt  many  even  die,  exhausted  by  their 
fruitless  search.  A  journey  of  exploration, 
in  a  country  a  few  inches  across,  forms  part, 
therefore,  of  the  young  Cicada's  curriculum. 
In  my  glass  jar,  so  sumptuously  furnished, 
the  pilgrimage  is  uncalled  for.  No  matter: 
1 06 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

it  has  to  be  performed  according  to  the  time- 
honoured  rites. 

My  gadabouts  at  last  grow  calm.  I  see 
them  attack  the  earth  with  the  hooked  mat- 
tocks of  their  fore-feet,  digging  into  it  and 
making  the  sort  of  excavation  which  the 
point  of  a  thick  needle  would  produce. 
Armed  with  a  magnifying-glass,  I  watch  them 
wielding  their  pick-axes,  watch  them  raking 
an  atom  of  earth  to  the  surface.  In  a  few 
minutes  a  well  has  been  scooped  out.  The 
little  creature  goes  down  it,  buries  itself  and 
is  henceforth  invisible. 

Next  day  I  turn  out  the  contents  of  the 
pot,  without  breaking  the  clod  held  together 
by  the  roots  of  the  thyme  and  the  wheat.  I 
find  all  my  larvae  at  the  bottom,  stopped 
from  going  farther  by  the  glass.  In  twenty- 
four  hours  they  have  traversed  the  entire 
thickness  of  the  layer  of  earth,  about  four 
inches.  They  would  have  gone  even  lower 
but  for  the  obstacle  at  the  bottom. 

On  their  way  they  probably  came  across 
my  thyme-  and  wheat-roots.  Did  they  stop 
to  take  a  little  nourishment  by  driving  in 
their  suckers?  It  is  hardly  probable.  A 
few  of  these  rootlets  are  trailing  at  the 
bottom  of  the  empty  pot.  Not  one  of  my 
107 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

six  prisoners  is  installed  on  them.  Perhaps 
in  overturning  the  glass  I  have  shaken  them 
off. 

It  is  clear  that  underground  there  can  be 
no  other  food  for  them  than  the  juice  of 
the  roots.  Whether  full-grown  or  in  the 
larval  stage,  the  Cicada  lives  on  vegetables. 
As  an  adult,  he  drinks  the  sap  of  the 
branches ;  as  a  larva,  he  sucks  the  sap  of  the 
roots.  But  at  what  moment  is  the  first  sip 
taken?  This  I  do  not  yet  know.  What 
goes  before  seems  to  tell  us  that  the  newly- 
hatched  grub  is  in  a  greater  hurry  to  reach 
the  depths  of  the  soil,  sheltered  from  the 
coming  colds  of  winter,  than  to  loiter  at  the 
drinking-bars  encountered  on  the  way. 

I  put  back  the  clod  of  heath-mould  and 
for  the  second  time  place  the  six  exhumed 
larvae  on  the  surface  of  the  soil.  Wells  are 
dug  without  delay.  The  grubs  disappear 
down  them.  Finally  I  put  the  pot  in  my 
study-window,  where  it  will  receive  all  the 
influences  of  the  outer  air,  good  and  bad 
alike. 

A  month  later,  at  the  end  of  November,  I 

make     a     second    inspection.     The    young 

Cicadae  are  crouching,  each  by  itself,  at  the 

bottom  of  the  clod  of  earth.    They  are  not 

108 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

clinging  to  the  roots;  they  have  not  altered 
in  appearance  or  in  size.  I  find  them  now 
just  as  I  saw  them  at  the  beginning  of  the 
experiment,  only  a  little  less  active.  Does 
not  this  absence  of  growth  during  the  in- 
terval of  November,  the  mildest  month  of 
winter,  seem  to  show  that  no  nourishment  is 
taken  throughout  the  cold  season? 

The  young  Sitaris-beetles,1  those  other 
animated  atoms,  as  soon  as  they  issue  from 
the  egg  at  the  entrance  to  the  Anthophora's  2 
galleries,  remain  in  motionless  heaps  and 
spend  the  winter  in  complete  abstinence. 
The  little  Cicadae  would  appear  to  behave 
in  much  the  same  manner.  Once  buried  in 
depths  where  there  is  no  fear  of  frosts,  they 
sleep,  solitary,  in  their  winter-quarters  and 
await  the  return  of  spring  before  broaching 
some  root  near  by  and  taking  their  first  re- 
freshment. 

I  have  tried,  but  without  success,  to  con- 
firm by  actual  observation  the  inferences  to 
be  drawn  from  the  above  results.  In  the 
spring,  in  April,  for  the  third  time  I  unpot 
my  plantation.  I  break  up  the  clod  and 

1  Cf.  The  Life  of  the  Fly:  chap,  iv.— Translator's  Note. 

8  Cf.  Bramble-bees  and  Others,  by  J.  Henri  Fabre, 
translated  by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  passim. — 
Translator's  Note. 

109 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

scrutinize  it  under  the  magnify  ing-glass.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  looking  for  a  needle  in  a 
haystack.  At  last  I  find  my  little  Cicadae. 
They  are  dead,  perhaps  of  cold,  notwith- 
standing the  bell-glass  with  which  I  had  cov- 
ered the  pot;  perhaps  of  starvation,  if  the 
thyme  did  not  suit  them.  The  problem  is 
too  difficult  to  solve ;  I  give  it  up. 

To  succeed  in  this  attempt  at  rearing  one 
would  need  a  very  wide  and  deep  bed  of 
earth,  providing  a  shelter  from  the  rigours 
of  winter,  and,  because  I  do  not  know  which 
are  the  insect's  favourite  roots,  there  would 
also  have  to  be  a  varied  vegetation,  in  which 
the  little  larvae  could  choose  according  to 
their  tastes.  These  conditions  are  quite 
practicable;  but  how  is  one  afterwards  to 
find  in  that  huge  mass  of  earth,  measuring  a 
cubic  yard  at  least,  the  atom  which  I  have 
so  much  trouble  in  distinguishing  in  a  handful 
of  black  mould?  And,  besides,  such  consci- 
entious digging  would  certainly  detach  the 
tiny  creature  from  the  root  that  nourishes  it. 

The  underground  life  of  the  early  Cicada 
remains  a  secret.  That  of  the  well-developed 
larva  is  no  better-known.  When  digging  in 
the  fields,  if  you  turn  up  the  soil  to  any 
depth,  you  are  constantly  finding  the  fierce 


The  Cicada:  the  Eggs 

little  burrower  under  your  spade ;  but  to  find 
it  fastened  to  the  roots  from  whose  sap  it 
undoubtedly  derives  its  nourishment  is  quite 
another  matter.  The  upheaval  occasioned  by 
the  spade  warns  it  of  its  danger.  It  releases 
its  sucker  and  retreats  to  some  gallery;  and, 
when  discovered,  it  is  no  longer  drinking. 

If  agricultural  digging,  with  its  inevitable 
disturbances,  is  unable  to  tell  us  anything  of 
the  grub's  underground  habits,  it  does  at  least 
inform  us  how  long  the  larval  stage  lasts. 
Some  obliging  husbandmen,  breaking  up 
their  land,  in  March,  rather  deeper  than 
usual,  were  so  very  good  as  to  pick  up  for 
me  all  the  larvae,  big  and  small,  unearthed 
by  their  labour.  The  harvest  amounted  to 
several  hundreds.  Marked  differences  in  bulk 
divided  the  total  into  three  classes :  the  large 
ones,  with  rudiments  of  wings  similar  to 
those  possessed  by  the  larvae  leaving  the 
ground,  the  medium-sized  and  the  small. 
Each  of  these  classes  must  correspond  with 
a  different  age.  We  will  add  to  them  the 
larva?  of  the  last  hatching,  microscopic  crea- 
tures that  necessarily  escaped  the  eyes  of  my 
rustic  collaborators;  and  we  arrive  at  four 
years  as  the  probable  duration  of  the 
underground  life  of  the  Cicadae, 
in 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Their  existence  in  the  air  is  more  easily 
calculated.  I  hear  the  first  Cicadae  at  the 
approach  of  the  summer  solstice.  The 
orchestra  attains  its  full  strength  a  month 
later.  A  few  laggards,  very  few  and  very 
far  between,  continue  to  execute  their  faint 
solos  until  the  middle  of  September.  That 
is  the  end  of  the  concert.  As  they  do  not 
all  come  out  of  the  ground  at  the  same 
period,  it  is  obvious  that  the  singers  of  Sep- 
tember are  not  contemporary  with  those  of 
June.  If  we  strike  an  average  between 
these  two  extreme  dates,  we  shall  have  about 
five  weeks. 

Four  years  of  hard  work  underground 
and  a  month  of  revelry  in  the  sun :  this  then 
represents  the  Cicada's  life.  Let  us  no 
longer  blame  the  adult  for  his  delirious  tri- 
umph. For  four  years,  in  the  darkness,  he 
has  worn  a  dirty  parchment  smock;  for  four 
years  he  has  dug  the  earth  with  his  mattocks ; 
and  behold  the  mud-stained  navvy  suddenly 
attired  in  exquisite  raiment,  possessed  of 
wings  that  rival  the  bird's,  drunk  with  the 
heat  and  inundated  with  light,  the  supreme 
joy  of  this  world!  What  cymbals  could  ever 
be  loud  enough  to  celebrate  such  felicity,  so 
richly  earned  and  so  ephemeral ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MANTIS:   HER   HUNTING 

ANOTHER  creature  of  the  south,  at  least 
as  interesting  as  the  Cicada,  but  much 
less  famous,  because  it  makes  no  noise.  Had 
Heaven  granted  it  a  pair  of  cymbals,  the  one 
thing  needed,  its  renown  would  eclipse  the 
great  musician's,  for  it  is  most  unusual  in 
both  shape  and  habits.  Folk  hereabouts  call 
it  lou  Prego-Dieu,  the  animal  that  prays  to 
God.  Its  official  name  is  the  Praying  Mantis 
(M.  religiosa,  LIN.). 

The  language  of  science  and  the  peasant's 
artless  vocabulary  agree  in  this  case  and 
represent  the  queer  creature  as  a  pythoness 
delivering  her  oracles  or  an  ascetic  rapt  in 
pious  ecstasy.  The  comparison  dates  a  long 
way  back.  Even  in  the  time  of  the  Greeks 
the  insect  was  called  Mams,  the  divine,  the 
prophet.  The  tiller  of  the  soil  is  not  par- 
ticular about  analogies:  where  points  of  re- 
semblance are  not  too  clear,  he  will  make 
113 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

up  for  their  deficiencies.  He  saw  on  the  sun- 
scorched  herbage  an  insect  of  imposing  ap- 
pearance, drawn  up  majestically  in  a  half- 
erect  posture.  He  noticed  its  gossamer 
wings,  broad  and  green,  trailing  like  long 
veils  of  finest  lawn;  he  saw  its  fore-legs,  its 
arms  so  to  speak,  raised  to  the  sky  in  a  gest- 
ure of  invocation.  That  was  enough;  popu- 
lar imagination  did  the  rest;  and  behold 
the  bushes  from  ancient  times  stocked  with 
Delphic  priestesses,  with  nuns  in  orison. 

Good  people,  with  your  childish  simplicity, 
how  great  was  your  mistake !  Those  sancti- 
monious airs  are  a  mask  for  Satanic  habits; 
those  arms  folded  in  prayer  are  cut-throat 
weapons :  they  tell  no  beads,  they  slay  what- 
ever passes  within  range.  Forming  an  ex- 
ception which  one  would  never  have  sus- 
pected, in  the  herbivorous  order  of  the 
Orthoptera,  the  Mantis  feeds  exclusively  on 
living  prey.  She  is  the  tigress  of  the  peace- 
able entomological  tribes,  the  ogress  in  am- 
bush who  levies  a  tribute  of  fresh  meat. 
Picture  her  with  sufficient  strength;  and 
her  carnivorous  appetites,  combined  with  her 
traps  of  horrible  perfection,  would  make  her 
the  terror  of  the  country-side.  The  Prego- 
Dieu  would  become  a  devilish  vampire. 
114 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

Apart  from  her  lethal  implement,  the 
Mantis  has  nothing  to  inspire  dread.  She  is 
not  without  a  certain  beauty,  in  fact,  with 
her  slender  figure,  her  elegant  bust,  her  pale- 
green  colouring  and  her  long  gauze  wings. 
No  ferocious  mandibles,  opening  like  shears ; 
on  the  contrary,  a  dainty  pointed  muzzle 
that  seems  made  for  billing  and  cooing. 
Thanks  to  a  flexible  neck,  quite  independent 
of  the  thorax,  the  head  is  able  to  move 
freely,  to  turn  to  right  or  left,  to  bend,  to 
lift  itself.  Alone  among  insects,  the  Mantis 
directs  her  gaze;  she  inspects  and  examines; 
she  almost  has  a  physiognomy. 

Great  indeed  is  the  contrast  between  the 
body  as  a  whole,  with  its  very  pacific  aspect, 
and  the  murderous  mechanism  of  the  fore- 
legs, which  are  correctly  described  as  rap- 
torial. The  haunch  is  uncommonly  long  and 
powerful.  Its  function  is  to  throw  forward 
the  rat-trap,  which  does  not  await  its  victim 
but  goes  in  search  of  it.  The  snare  is  decked 
out  with  some  show  of  finery.  The  base  of 
the  haunch  is  adorned  on  the  inner  surface 
with  a  pretty,  black  mark,  having  a  white 
spot  in  the  middle ;  and  a  few  rows  of  bead- 
like  dots  complete  the  ornamentation. 

The  thigh,  longer  still,  a  sort  of  flat- 
us 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

tened  spindle,  carries  on  the  front  half 
of  its  lower  surface  two  rows  of  sharp 
spikes.  In  the  inner  row  there  are  a 
dozen,  alternately  black  and  green,  the  green 
being  shorter  than  the  black.  This  alterna- 
tion of  unequal  lengths  increases  the  number 
of  cogs  and  improves  the  effectiveness  of  the 
weapon.  The  outer  row  is  simpler  and  has 
only  four  teeth.  Lastly,  three  spurs,  the 
longest  of  all,  stand  out  behind  the  two  rows. 
In  short,  the  thigh  is  a  saw  with  two  parallel 
blades,  separated  by  a  groove  in  which  the 
leg  lies  when  folded  back. 

The  leg,  which  moves  very  easily  on  its 
joint  with  the  thigh,  is  likewise  a  double- 
edged  saw.  The  teeth  are  smaller,  more 
numerous  and  closer  together  than  those  on 
the  thigh.  It  ends  in  a  strong  hook  whose 
point  vies  with  the  finest  needle  for  sharp- 
ness, a  hook  fluted  underneath  and  having  a 
double  blade  like  a  curved  pruning-knife. 

This  hook,  a  most  perfect  instrument  for 
piercing  and  tearing,  has  left  me  many  a  pain- 
ful memory.  How  often,  when  Mantis- 
hunting,  clawed  by  the  insect  which  I  had 
just  caught  and  not  having  both  hands  at 
liberty,  have  I  been  obliged  to  ask  somebody 
else  to  release  me  from  my  tenacious  cap- 
116 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

tive !  To  try  to  free  yourself  by  force,  with- 
out first  disengaging  the  claws  implanted  in 
your  flesh,  would  expose  you  to  scratches 
similar  to  those  produced  by  the  thorns  of 
a  rose-tree.  None  of  our  insects  is  so 
troublesome  to  handle.  The  Mantis  claws 
you  with  her  pruning-hooks,  pricks  you  with 
her  spikes,  seizes  you  in  her  vice  and  makes 
self-defence  almost  impossible  if,  wishing 
to  keep  your  prize  alive,  you  refrain  from 
giving  the  pinch  of  the  thumb  that  would 
put  an  end  to  the  struggle  by  crushing  the 
creature. 

When  at  rest,  the  trap  is  folded  and 
pressed  back  against  the  chest  and  looks 
quite  harmless.  There  you  have  the  insect 
praying.  But,  should  a  victim  pass,  the  atti- 
tude of  prayer  is  dropped  abruptly.  Sud- 
denly unfolded,  the  three  long  sections  of 
the  machine  throw  to  a  distance  their  term- 
inal grapnel,  which  harpoons  the  prey  and, 
in  returning,  draws  it  back  between  the  two 
saws.  The  vice  closes  with  a  movement  like 
that  of  the  fore-arm  and  the  upper  arm;  and 
all  is  over :  Locusts,  Grasshoppers  and  others 
even  more  powerful,  once  caught  in  the 
mechanism  with  its  four  rows  of  teeth,  are 
irretrievably  lost.  Neither  their  desperate 
117 


HOW  CRICKETS  SING 


Camera  Shows  They  Used  Wings 
Instead  of  Legs  Ih  Pro- 
ducing Their  Notes 

Crickets  sing  with  their  wings  and 
not  with  their  legs.  And  katydids 
also.  You  do  not  believe  it.  Since  you 
were  a  little  child  you  have  been  tojd 
that  crickets  made  their  shrill  and 
chirping  sounds  by  rubbing  their  hind 
legs  together  or  scraping  their 
legs  against  thoir  wings  or  sides,  or 
I  something  like  that.  At  any  rate  they 
!  made  what  might  be  called  foot-notes 
or  sang  by  leg  power. 

Insect  students  have  settled  the 
question.  They  say  that  crickets,  like 
nearly  all  other  varieties  of  singing 
insects  have  "stringulating  organs"  at 
the  base  of  their  wings.  Rubbing 
rgans  together  they  produce 
vibrations  and  the  wings,  which  are 
hollow,  serve  as  sounding  boards  and 
the  volume  of  the  sound.  The 
stringulating  organs  look  like  two 
small  folded  wings  having  saw-like 
edges.  The  insect  rasps  these  two 
saw  edges  together. 

The  matter  was  settled  by  a  cam- 
era. It  was  not  easy  for  the  photog- 
rapher to  obtain  a  sitting  from  a 
cricket  and  to  catch  him  in  the  act  o 
singing.  He  would  only  sing  in  th< 
dark  and  the  camera  would  only  taki 
him  in  the  light.  So  the  scientist* 
with  the  camera  posed  a  little  cricket 
in  the  light  where  the  camera  was 
focused  on  him.  Then  he  set  off  an 
instrument  which  made  a  noise  s< 
much  like  a  cricket  that  the  cricko 
thought  it  was  one. 

Whether  the  cricket  thought  he  was 
being     serenaded      or      challenged   o 
mocked  by  another  of  his     kind  doe 
not   matter.      The      cricket     answered 
with    his  well     known     song  and   the 
shutter  opened  and  closed  before  th 
iieker  than  the  wink  of  an  ey 
and  the  secret  of  the  cricket  was  rea 
on  the  sensitized  plate  when  it  was  de 
veloped. 

That  was  how  it  came  to  be  know: 
that  the  cricket  does  not  eing  b, 
scraping  hi*  legs  together,  or  b 
scraping  hi-s  wings  together,  but  b 
rasping  those  special  instrument 
called  stringulating  organs. 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

fluttering  nor  their  kicking  will  make  the  ter- 
rible engine  release  its  hold. 

An  uninterrupted  study  of  the  Mantis' 
habits  is  not  practicable  in  the  open  fields; 
we  must  rear  her  at  home.  There  is  no 
difficulty  about  this :  she  does  not  mind  being 
interned  under  glass,  on  condition  that  she 
be  well  fed.  Offer  her  choice  viands,  served 
up  fresh  daily,  and  she  will  hardly  feel  her 
absence  from  the  bushes. 

As  cages  for  my  captives  I  have  some  ten 
large  wire-gauze  dish-covers,  the  same  that 
are  used  to  protect  meat  from  the  Flies. 
Each  stands  in  a  pan  filled  with  sand.  A  dry 
tuft  of  thyme  and  a  flat  stone  on  which  the 
laying  may  be  done  later  constitute  all  the 
furniture.  These  huts  are  placed  in  a  row 
on  the  large  table  in  my  insect  laboratory, 
where  the  sun  shines  on  them  for  the  best 
part  of  the  day.  I  instal  my  captives  in 
them,  some  singly,  some  in  groups. 

It  is  in  the  second  fortnight  of  August  that 
I  begin  to  come  upon  the  adult  Mantis  in  the 
withered  grass  and  on  the  brambles  by  the 
road-side.  The  females,  already  notably 
corpulent,  are  more  frequent  from  day  to 
day.  Their  slender  companions,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  rather  scarce;  and  I  some- 
118 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

times  have  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  in  making 
up  my  couples,  for  there  is  an  appalling  con- 
sumption of  these  dwarfs  in  the  cages.  Let 
us  keep  these  atrocities  for  later  and  speak 
first  of  the  females. 

They  are  great  eaters,  whose  maintenance, 
when  it  has  to  last  for  some  months,  is  none 
too  easy.  The  provisions,  which  are  nibbled 
at  disdainfully  and  nearly  all  wasted,  have 
to  be  renewed  almost  every  day.  I  trust  that 
the  Mantis  is  more  economical  on  her  native 
bushes.  When  game  is  not  plentiful,  no 
doubt  she  devours  every  atom  of  her  catch; 
in  my  cages  she  is  extravagant,  often  drop- 
ping and  abandoning  the  rich  morsel  after 
a  few  mouthfuls,  without  deriving  any  fur- 
ther benefit  from  it.  This  appears  to  be  her 
particular  method  of  beguiling  the  tedium  of 
captivity. 

To  cope  with  these  extravagant  ways  I 
have  to  employ  assistants.  Two  or  three 
small  local  idlers,  bribed  by  the  promise  of 
a  slice  of  melon  or  bread-and-butter,  go 
morning  and  evening  to  the  grass-plots  in 
the  neighbourhood  and  fill  their  game-bags 
— cases  made  of  reed-stumps — with  live  Lo- 
custs and  Grasshoppers.  I  on  my  side,  net 
in  hand,  make  a  daily  circuit  of  my  enclosure, 
119 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

in  the  hope  of  obtaining  some  choice  morsel 
for  my  boarders. 

These  tit-bits  are  intended  to  show  me  to 
what  lengths  the  Mantis'  strength  and  dar- 
ing can  go.  They  include  the  big  Grey 
Locust  (Pachytylus  cinerescens,  FAB.),  who 
is  larger  than  the  insect  that  will  consume 
him;  the  White-faced  Decticus,  armed  with  a 
vigorous  pair  of  mandibles  whereof  our  fin- 
gers would  do  well  to  fight  shy;  the  quaint 
Tryxalis,  who  wears  a  pyramid-shaped  mitre 
on  her  head;  the  Vine  Ephippiger,1  who 
clashes  cymbals  and  sports  a  sword  at  the 
bottom  of  her  pot-belly.  To  this  assortment 
of  game  that  is  not  any  too  easy  to  tackle,  let 
us  add  two  monsters,  two  of  the  largest 
Spiders  of  the  district:  the  Silky  Epeira, 
whose  flat,  festooned  abdomen  is  the  size  of 
a  franc  piece ;  and  the  Cross  Spider,  or  Dia- 
dem Epeira,2  who  is  hideously  hairy  and 
obese. 

I  cannot  doubt  that  the  Mantis  attacks 
such  adversaries  in  the  open,  when  I  see  her, 

1  The  Decticus,  Tryxalis  and  Ephippiger  are  all  species 
of  Grasshoppers  or  Locusts. — Translator's  Note. 

2  Epeira    sericea    and    E,    diadema    are    two    Garden 
Spiders  for  whom  cf.  The  Life  of  the  Spider,  by  J.  Henri 
Fabre,  translated  by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  chaps. 
ix  to  xiv.— Translator's  Note. 

120 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

under  my  covers,  boldly  giving  battle  to 
whatever  comes  in  sight.  Lying  in  wait 
among  the  bushes,  she  must  profit  by  the  fat 
prizes  offered  by  chance  even  as,  in  the  wire 
cage,  she  profits  by  the  treasures  due  to  my 
generosity.  Those  big  hunts,  full  of  danger, 
are/  no  new  thing;  they  form  part  of  her 
normal  existence.  Nevertheless  they  appear 
to  be  rare,  for  want  of  opportunity,  perhaps 
to  the  Mantis'  deep  regret. 

Locusts  of  all  kinds,  Butterflies,  Dragon- 
flies,  large  Flies,  Bees  and  other  moderate- 
sized  captures  are  what  we  usually  find  in 
the  lethal  limbs.  Still  the  fact  remains  that, 
in  my  cages,  the  daring  huntress  recoils  be- 
fore nothing.  Sooner  or  later,  Grey  Locust 
and  Decticus,  Epeira  and  Tryxalis  are  har- 
pooned, held  tight  between  the  saws  and 
crunched  with  gusto.  The  facts  are  worth 
describing. 

At  the  sight  of  the  Grey  Locust  who  has 
heedlessly  approached  along  the  trelliswork 
of  the  cover,  the  Mantis  gives  a  convulsive 
shiver  and  suddenly  adopts  a  terrifying  pos- 
ture. An  electric  shock  would  not  produce 
a  more  rapid  effect.  The  transition  is  so 
abrupt,  the  attitude  so  threatening  that  the 
observer  beholding  it  for  the  first  time  at 

121 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

once  hesitates  and  draws  back  his  fingers,  ap- 
prehensive of  some  unknown  danger.  Old 
hand  as  I  am,  I  cannot  even  now  help  being 
startled,  should  I  happen  to  be  thinking  of 
something  else. 

You  see  before  you,  most  unexpectedly,  a 
sort  of  bogey-man  or  Jack-in-the-box.  The 
wing-covers  open  and  are  turned  back  on 
either  side,  slantingly;  the  wings  spread  to 
their  full  extent  and  stand  erect  like  parallel 
sails  or  like  a  huge  heraldic  crest  towering 
over  the  back;  the  tip  of  the  abdomen  curls 
upwards  like  a  crosier,  rises  and  falls,  relax- 
ing with  short  jerks  and  a  sort  of  sough,  a 
"Whoof!  Whoof!"  like  that  of  a  Turkey- 
cock  spreading  his  tail.  It  reminds  one  of  the 
puffing  of  a  startled  Adder. 

Planted  defiantly  on  its  four  hind-legs,  the 
insect  holds  its  long  bust  almost  upright. 
The  murderous  legs,  originally  folded  and 
pressed  together  upon  the  chest,  open  wide, 
forming  a  cross  with  the  body  and  revealing 
the  arm-pits  decorated  with  rows  of  beads 
and  a  black  spot  with  a  white  dot  in  the 
centre.  These  two  faint  imitations  of  the 
eyes  in  a  Peacock's  tail,  together  with  the 
dainty  ivory  beads,  are  warlike  ornaments 
kept  hidden  at  ordinary  times.  They  are 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

taken  from  the  jewel-case  only  at  the  moment 
when  we  have  to  make  ourselves  brave  and 
terrible  for  battle. 

Motionless  in  her  strange  posture,  the 
Mantis  watches  the  Locust,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  in  his  direction  and  her  head  turning 
as  on  a  pivot  whenever  the  other  changes 
his  place.  The  object  of  this  attitudinizing 
is  evident :  the  Mantis  wants  to  strike  terror 
into  her  dangerous  quarry,  to  paralyze  it 
with  fright,  for,  unless  demoralized  by  fear, 
it  would  prove  too  formidable. 

Does  she  succeed  in  this?  Under  the 
shiny  head  of  the  Decticus,  behind  the  long 
face  of  the  Locust,  who  can  tell  what  passes? 
No  sign  of  excitement  betrays  itself  to  our 
eyes  on  those  impassive  masks.  Neverthe- 
less it  is  certain  that  the  threatened  one  is 
aware  of  the  danger.  He  sees  standing  be- 
fore him  a  spectre,  with  uplifted  claws, 
ready  to  fall  upon  him;  he  feels  that  he  is 
face  to  face  with  death;  and  he  fails  to  escape 
while  there  is  yet  time.  He  who  excels  in 
leaping  and  could  so  easily  hop  out  of 
reach  of  those  talons,  he,  the  big-thighed 
jumper,  remains  stupidly  where  he  is,  or  even 
draws  nearer  with  a  leisurely  step. 

They  say  that  little  birds,  paralysed  with 
123 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

terror  before  the  open  jaws  of  the  Snake, 
spell-bound  by  the  reptile's  gaze,  lose  their 
power  of  flight  and  allow  themselves  to  be 
snapped  up.  The  Locust  often  behaves  in 
much  the  same  way.  See  him  within  reach 
of  the  enchantress.  The  two  grapnels  fall, 
the  claws  strike,  the  double  saws  close  and 
clutch.  In  vain  the  poor  wretch  protests : 
he  chews  space  with  his  mandibles  and,  kick- 
ing desperately,  strikes  nothing  but  the  air. 
His  fate  is  sealed.  The  Mantis  furls  her 
wings,  her  battle-standard;  she  resumes  her 
normal  posture;  and  the  meal  begins. 

In  attacking  the  Tryxalis  and  the  Ephip- 
piger,  less  dangerous  game  than  the  Grey 
Locust  and  the  Decticus,  the  spectral  attitude 
is  less  imposing  and  of  shorter  duration. 
Often  the  throw  of  the  grapnels  is  sufficient. 
This  is  likewise  so  in  the  case  of  the  Epeira, 
who  is  grasped  round  the  body  with  not  a 
thought  of  her  poison-fangs.  With  the 
smaller  Locusts,  the  usual  fare  in  my  cages  as 
in  the  open  fields,  the  Mantis  seldom  em- 
ploys her  intimidation-methods  and  contents 
herself  with  seizing  the  reckless  one  that 
passes  within  her  reach. 

When  the  prey  to  be  captured  is  able  to 
offer  serious  resistance,  the  Mantis  has  at 
124 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

her  service  a  pose  that  terrorizes  and  fas- 
cinates her  quarry  and  gives  her  claws  a 
means  of  hitting  with  certainty.  Her  rat- 
traps  close  on  a  demoralized  victim  incapa- 
ble of  defence.  She  frightens  her  victim  into 
immobility  by  suddenly  striking  a  spectral 
attitude. 

The  wings  play  a  great  part  in  this  fan- 
tastic pose.  They  are  very  wide,  green  on 
the  outer  edge,  colourless  and  transparent 
every  elsewhere.  They  are  crossed  length- 
wise by  numerous  veins,  which  spread  in  the 
shape  of  a  fan.  Other  veins,  transversal  and 
finer,  intersect  the  first  at  right  angles  and 
with  them  form  a  multitude  of  meshes.  In 
the  spectral  attitude,  the  wings  are  displayed 
and  stand  upright  in  two  parallel  planes  that 
almost  touch  each  other,  like  the  wings  of 
a  Butterfly  at  rest.  Between  them  the  curled 
tip  of  the  abdomen  moves  with  sudden  starts. 
The  sort  of  breath  which  I  have  compared 
with  the  puffing  of  an  Adder  in  a  posture  of 
defence  comes  from  this  rubbing  of  the  ab- 
domen against  the  nerves  of  the  wings.  To 
imitate  the  strange  sound,  all  that  you  need 
do  is  to  pass  your  nail  quickly  over  the  upper 
surface  of  an  unfurled  wing. 

Wings  are  essential  to  the  male,  a  slender 
125 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

pigmy  who  has  to  wander  from  thicket  to 
thicket  at  mating-time.  He  has  a  well- 
developed  pair,  more  than  sufficient  for  his 
flight,  the  greatest  range  of  which  hardly 
amounts  to  four  or  five  of  our  paces.  The 
little  fellow  is  exceedingly  sober  in  his  appe- 
tites. On  rare  occasions,  in  my  cages,  I 
catch  him  eating  a  lean  Locust,  an  insig- 
nificant, perfectly  harmless  creature.  This 
means  that  he  knows  nothing  of  the  spectral 
attitude,  which  is  of  no  use  to  an  unambi- 
tious hunter  of  his  kind. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  advantage  of  the 
wings  to  the  female  is  not  very  obvious,  for 
she  is  inordinately  stout  at  the  time  when  her 
eggs  ripen.  She  climbs,  she  runs;  but, 
weighed  down  by  her  corpulence,  she  never 
flies.  Then  what  is  the  object  of  wings,  of 
wings,  too,  which  are  seldom  matched  for 
breadth? 

The  question  becomes  more  significant  if 
we  consider  the  Grey  Mantis  (Ameles  de- 
color}, who  is  closely  akin  to  the  Praying 
Mantis.  The  male  is  winged  and  is  even 
pretty  quick  at  flying.  The  female,  who 
drags  a  great  belly  full  of  eggs,  reduces  her 
wings  to  stumps  and,  like  the  cheese-makers 
of  Auvergne  and  Savoy,  wears  a  short-tailed 
126 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

jacket.  For  one  who  is  not  meant  to 
leave  the  dry  grass  and  the  stones,  this  ab- 
breviated costume  is  more  suitable  than 
superfluous  gauze  furbelows.  The  Grey 
Mantis  is  right  to  retain  but  a  mere  vestige 
of  the  cumbrous  sails. 

Is  the  other  wrong  to  keep  her  wings,  to 
exaggerate  them,  even  though  she  never 
flies?  Not  at  all.  The  Praying  Mantis 
hunts  big  game.  Sometimes  a  formidable 
prey  appears  in  her  hiding-place.  A  direct 
attack  might  be  fatal.  The  thing  to  do  is 
first  to  intimidate  the  new-comer,  to  conquer 
his  resistance  by  terror.  With  this  object 
she  suddenly  unfurls  her  wings  into  a  ghost's 
winding-sheet.  The  huge  sails  incapable  of 
flight  are  hunting-implements.  This  strata- 
gem is  not  needed  by  the  little  Grey  Mantis, 
who  captures  feeble  prey,  such  as  Gnats  and 
new-born  Locusts.  The  two  huntresses,  who 
have  similar  habits  and,  because  of  their 
stoutness,  are  neither  of  them  able  to  fly,  are 
dressed  to  suit  the  difficulties  of  the  ambus- 
cade. The  first,  an  impetuous  amazon,  puffs 
her  wings  into  a  threatening  standard;  the 
second,  a  modest  fowler,  reduces  them  to  a 
pair  of  scanty  coat-tails. 

In  a  fit  of  hunger,  after  a  fast  of  some 
127 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

days'  duration,  the  Praying  Mantis  will  gob- 
ble up  a  Grey  Locust  whole,  except  for  the 
wings,  which  are  too  dry;  and  yet  the  victim 
of  her  voracity  is  as  big  as  herself,  or  even 
bigger.  Two  hours  are  enough  for  con- 
suming this  monstrous  head  of  game.  An 
orgy  of  the  sort  is  rare.  I  have  witnessed 
it  once  or  twice  and  have  always  wondered 
how  the  gluttonous  creature  found  room  for 
so  much  food  and  how  it  reversed  in  its 
favour  the  axiom  that  the  cask  must  be 
greater  than  its  contents.  I  can  but  admire 
the  lofty  privileges  of  a  stomach  through 
which  matter  merely  passes,  being  at  once 
digested,  dissolved  and  done  away  with. 

The  usual  bill  of  fare  in  my  cages  con- 
sists of  Locusts  of  greatly  varied  species  and 
sizes.  It  is  interesting  to  watch  the  Mantis 
nibbling  her  Acridian,  firmly  held  in  the 
grip  of  her  two  murderous  fore-legs.  Not- 
withstanding the  fine,  pointed  muzzle, 
which  seems  scarcely  made  for  this  gorging, 
the  whole  dish  disappears,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  wings,  of  which  only  the  slightly 
fleshy  base  is  consumed.  The  legs,  the  tough 
skin,  everything  goes  down.  Sometimes  the 
Mantis  seizes  one  of  the  big  hinder  thighs 
by  the  knuckle-end,  lifts  it  to  her  mouth, 
128 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

tastes  it  and  crunches  it  with  a  little  air  of 
satisfaction.  The  Locust's  fat  and  juicy 
thigh  may  well  be  a  choice  morsel  for  her, 
even  as  a  leg  of  mutton  is  for  us. 

The  prey  is  first  attacked  in  the  neck. 
While  one  of  the  two  lethal  legs  holds  the 
victim  transfixed  through  the  middle  of  the 
body,  the  other  presses  the  head  and  makes 
the  neck  open  upwards.  The  Mantis'  muzzle 
roots  and  nibbles  at  this  weak  point  in  the 
armour  with  some  persistency.  A  large 
wound  appears  in  the  head.  The  Locust 
gradually  ceases  kicking  and  becomes  a  life- 
less corpse;  and,  from  this  moment,  freer 
in  its  movements,  the  carnivorous  insect 
picks  and  chooses  its  morsel. 

This  preliminary  gnawing  of  the  neck  is 
too  regular  an  occurrence  to  be  purposeless. 
Let  us  indulge  in  a  digression  which  will  tell 
us  more  about  it.  In  June  I  often  find  on 
the  lavender  in  the  enclosure  two  small  Crab 
Spiders  (Thomisus  onustus,  WALCK.,1  and 
T.  rotundatus,  WALCK.).  One  is  satin- 
white  and  has  pink  and  green  rings  round 
her  legs;  the  other  is  inky-black  and  has  an 
abdomen  encircled  with  red  with  a  foliaceous 

1  Cf.  The  Life  of  the  Spider:  chap.  viii. — Translator's 
Note. 

129 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

central  patch.  They  are  pretty  Spiders, 
both  of  them,  and  they  walk  sideways,  after 
the  manner  of  Crabs.  They  do  not  know 
how  to  weave  a  hunting-net;  the  little  silk 
which  they  possess  is  reserved  exclusively  for 
the  downy  satchel  containing  the  eggs.  Their 
plan  of  campaign  therefore  is  to  lie  in  am- 
bush on  the  flowers  and  to  fling  themselves 
unexpectedly  on  the  quarry  when  it  arrives 
on  pilfering  intent. 

Their  favourite  prey  is  the  Hive-bee.  I 
often  come  upon  them  with  their  prize,  at 
times  grabbed  by  the  neck  and  at  others  by 
any  part  of  the  body,  even  the  tip  of  a  wing. 
In  each  and  every  case  the  Bee  is  dead,  with 
her  legs  hanging  limply  and  her  tongue  out. 

The  poison-fangs  planted  in  the  neck  set 
me  thinking;  I  see  in  them  a  characteristic 
remarkably  like  the  practice  of  the  Mantis 
when  starting  on  her  Locust.  And  then 
arises  another  question :  how  does  the  weak 
Spider,  who  is  vulnerable  in  every  part  of 
her  soft  body,  manage  to  get  hold  of  a  prey 
like  the  Bee,  stronger  than  herself,  quicker  in 
movement  and  armed  with  a  sting  that  can 
inflict  a  mortal  wound? 

The  difference  in  physical  strength  and 
force  of  arms  between  assailant  and  assailed 
130 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

is  so  very  great  that  a  contest  of  this  kind 
seems  impossible  unless  some  netting  inter- 
vene, some  silken  toils  that  can  shackle  and 
bind  the  formidable  creature.  The  contrast 
would  be  no  more  intense  were  the  Sheep 
to  take  it  into  her  head  to  fly  at  the  Wolf's 
throat.  And  yet  the  daring  attack  takes 
place  and  victory  goes  to  the  weaker,  as  is 
proved  by  the  numbers  of  dead  Bees  whom 
I  see  sucked  for  hours  by  the  Thomisi.  The 
relative  weakness  must  be  made  good  by 
some  special  art;  the  Spider  must  possess  a 
strategy  that  enables  her  to  surmount  the 
apparently  insurmountable  difficulty. 

To  watch  events  on  the  lavender-borders 
would  expose  me  to  long,  fruitless  waits.  It 
is  better  myself  to  make  the  preparations  for 
the  duel.  I  place  a  Thomisus  under  a  cover 
with  a  bunch  of  lavender  sprinkled  with  a 
few  drops  of  honey.  Some  three  or  four  live 
Bees  complete  the  establishment. 

The  Bees  pay  no  heed  to  their  redoubt- 
able neighbour.  They  flutter  around  the 
trellised  enclosure;  from  time  to  time  they 
go  and  take  a  sip  from  the  honeyed  flowers, 
sometimes  quite  close  to  the  Spider,  not  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  away.  They  seem  utterly 
unaware  of  their  danger.  The  experience  of 
131 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

centuries  has  taught  them  nothing  about  the 
terrible  cut-throat.  The  Thomisus,  on  her 
side,  waits  motionless  on  a  spike  of  lavender, 
near  the  honey.  Her  four  front  legs,  which 
are  longer  than  the  others,  are  spread  out 
and  slightly  raised,  in  readiness  for  attack. 

A  Bee  comes  to  drink  at  the  drop  of  honey. 
This  is  the  moment.  The  Spider  springs 
forward  and  with  her  fangs  seizes  the  im- 
prudent one  by  the  tip  of  the  wings,  while 
her  legs  hold  the  victim  in  a  tight  embrace. 
A  few  seconds  pass,  during  which  the  Bee 
struggles  as  best  she  can  against  the  ag- 
gressor on  her  back,  out  of  the  reach  of  her 
dagger.  This  fight  at  close  quarters  cannot 
last  long;  the  Bee  would  release  herself  from 
the  other's  grip.  And  so  the  Spider  lets  go 
the  wing  and  suddenly  bites  her  prey  in  the 
back  of  the  neck.  Once  the  fangs  drive 
home,  it  is  all  over :  death  ensues.  The  Bee 
is  slain.  Of  her  turbulent  activity  naught 
lingers  but  some  faint  quivers  of  the  tarsi, 
final  convulsions  which  are  soon  at  an  end. 

Still  holding  her  prey  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  the  Thomisus  feasts  not  on  the  body, 
which  remains  intact,  but  on  the  blood,  which 
is  slowly  sucked.  When  the  neck  is  drained 
dry,  another  spot  is  attacked,  on  the  ab- 
132 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

domen,  the  thorax,  anywhere.  This  ex- 
plains why  my  observations  in  the  open  air 
showed  me  the  Thomisus  with  her  fangs 
fixed  now  in  the  neck,  now  in  some  other 
part  of  the  Bee.  In  the  first  case,  the  cap- 
ture was  a  recent  one  and  the  murderess 
still  retained  her  original  posture;  in  the 
second  case,  it  had  been  made  some  time 
before;  and  the  Spider  had  forsaken  the 
wound  in  the  head,  now  sucked  dry,  to  bite 
into  some  other  juicy  part,  no  matter  which. 

Thus  shifting  her  fangs,  a  trifle  this  way 
or  that,  as  she  drains  her  prey,  the  little 
ogress  gorges  on  her  victim's  blood  with 
voluptuous  deliberation.  I  have  seen  the 
meal  last  for  seven  consecutive  hours;  and 
even  then  the  prey  was  let  go  only  because 
of  the  shock  given  to  its  devourer  by  my 
indiscreet  examination.  The  abandoned 
corpse,  a  carcass  of  no  value  to  the  Spider, 
is  not  dismembered  in  any  way.  There  is 
not  a  trace  of  bitten  flesh,  not  a  wound  that 
shows.  The  Bee  is  drained  of  her  blood; 
and  that  is  all. 

My  friend  Bull,  when  he  was  alive,  used 

to  catch  an  enemy  whose  teeth  threatened 

danger  by  the  skin  of  the  neck.    His  method 

is  in  general  use  throughout  the  canine  race. 

J33 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

There,  in  front  of  you,  is  a  growling  pair 
of  jaws,  open,  white  with  foam,  ready  to 
bite.  The  most  elementary  prudence  ad- 
vises you  to  keep  them  quiet  by  catching  hold 
of  the  back  of  the  neck. 

In  her  fight  with  the  Bee,  the  Spider  has 
not  the  same  object.  What  has  she  to  fear 
from  her  victim?  The  sting  before  all 
things,  the  terrible  dart  whose  least  stab 
would  destroy  her.  And  yet  she  does  not 
trouble  about  it.  What  she  makes  for  is 
the  back  of  the  neck,  that  alone  and  never 
anything  else,  so  long  as  the  prey  remains 
alive.  In  so  doing  she  does  not  aim  at  copy- 
ing the  tactics  of  the  Dog  and  depriving  the 
head,  which  is  not  particularly  dangerous,  of 
its  power  of  movement.  Her  plan  is  far- 
ther-reaching and  is  revealed  to  us  by  the 
lightning  death  of  the  Bee.  The  neck  is  no 
sooner  gripped  than  the  victim  expires.  The 
cerebral  centres  therefore  are  injured,  poi- 
soned with  a  deadly  virus;  and  life  is  straight- 
way extinguished  at  its  very  seat.  This 
avoids  a  struggle  which,  if  prolonged,  would 
certainly  end  in  the  aggressor's  discomfiture. 
The  Bee  has  her  strength  and  her  sting  on 
her  side;  the  delicate  Thomisus  has  on  hers 
a  profound  knowledge  of  the  art  of  murder. 
i34 


The  Mantis:  her  Hunting 

Let  us  return  to  the  Mantis,  who  likewise 
has  mastered  the  first  principles  of  speedy 
and  scientific  killing,  in  which  the  little  Bee- 
slaughtering  Spider  excels.  A  sturdy  Lo- 
cust is  captured;  sometimes  a  powerful 
Grasshopper.  The  Mantis  naturally  wants 
to  devour  the  victuals  in  peace,  without  be- 
ing troubled  by  the  plunges  of  a  victim  who 
absolutely  refuses  to  be  devoured.  A  meal 
liable  to  interruptions  lacks  savour.  Now 
the  principal  means  of  defence  in  this  case 
are  the  hind-legs,  those  vigorous  levers 
which  can  kick  out  so  brutally  and  which 
moreover  are  armed  with  toothed  saws  that 
would  rip  open  the  Mantis'  bulky  paunch 
if  by  ill-luck  they  happen  to  graze  it. 
What  shall  we  do  to  reduce  them  to  helpless- 
ness, together  with  the  others,  which  are 
not  dangerous  but  troublesome  all  the  same, 
with  their  desperate  gesticulations  ? 

Strictly  speaking,  it  would  be  practicable 
to  cut  them  off  one  by  one.  But  that  is 
a  long  process  and  attended  with  a  certain 
risk.  The  Mantis  has  hit  upon  something 
better.  She  has  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  anatomy  of  the  spine.  By  first  attacking 
her  prize  at  the  back  of  the  half-opened  neck 
and  munching  the  cervical  ganglia,  she  de- 
i3S 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

stroys  the  muscular  energy  at  its  main  seat; 
and  inertia  supervenes,  not  suddenly  and 
completely,  for  the  clumsily-constructed  Lo- 
cust has  not  the  Bee's  exquisite  and  frail 
vitality,  but  still  sufficiently,  after  the  first 
mouthfuls.  Soon  the  kicking  and  the  ges- 
ticulating die  down,  all  movement  ceases  and 
the  game,  however  big  it  be,  is  consumed  in 
perfect  quiet. 

Among  the  hunters,  I  have  before  now 
drawn  a  distinction  between  those  who 
paralyse  and  those  who  kill.1  Both  terrify 
one  with  their  anatomical  knowledge.  To- 
day let  us  add  to  the  killers  the  Thomisus, 
that  expert  in  stabbing  in  the  neck,  and  the 
Mantis,  who,  to  devour  a  powerful  prey  at 
her  ease,  deprives  it  of  movement  by  first 
gnawing  its  cervical  ganglia. 

1  Cf.  The  Hunting  Wasps:  passim. — Translator's  Note. 


136 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MANTIS  :  HER  LOVE-MAKING 

THE  little  that  we  have  seen  of  the 
Mantis'  habits  hardly  tallies  with  what 
we  might  have  expected  from  her  popular 
name.  To  judge  by  the  term  Prego-Dieu, 
we  should  look  to  see  a  placid  insect,  deep 
in  pious  contemplation ;  and  we  find  ourselves 
in  the  presence  of  a  cannibal,  of  a  ferocious 
spectre  munching  the  brain  of  a  panic- 
stricken  victim.  Nor  is  even  this  the  most 
tragic  part.  The  Mantis  has  in  store  for 
us,  in  her  relations  with  her  own  kith  and 
kin,  manners  even  more  atrocious  than  those 
prevailing  among  the  Spiders,  who  have  an 
evil  reputation  in  this  respect. 

To  reduce  the  number  of  cages  on  my 
big  table  and  give  myself  a  little  more  space 
while  still  retaining  a  fair-sized  menagerie, 
I  instal  several  females,  sometimes  as  many 
as  a  dozen,  under  one  cover.  So  far  as  accom- 
modation is  concerned,  no  fault  can  be  found 
137 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

with  the  common  lodging.  There  is  room 
and  to  spare  for  the  evolutions  of  my  cap- 
tives, who  naturally  do  not  want  to  move 
about  much  with  their  unwieldy  bellies. 
Hanging  to  the  trelliswork  of  the  dome, 
motionless  they  digest  their  food  or  else 
await  an  unwary  passer-by.  Even  so  do  they 
act  when  at  liberty  in  the  thickets. 

Cohabitation  has  its  dangers.  I  know 
that  even  Donkeys,  those  peace-loving  ani- 
mals, quarrel  when  hay  is  scarce  in  the 
manger.  My  boarders,  who  are  less  com- 
plaisant, might  well,  in  a  moment  of  dearth, 
become  sour-tempered  and  fight  among  them- 
selves. I  guard  against  this  by  keeping  the 
cages  well  supplied  with  Locusts,  renewed 
twice  a  day.  Should  civil  war  break  out, 
famine  cannot  be  pleaded  as  the  excuse. 

At  first,  things  go  pretty  well.  The  com- 
munity lives  in  peace,  each  Mantis  grabbing 
and  eating  whatever  comes  near  her,  with- 
out seeking  strife  with  her  neighbours.  But 
this  harmonious  period  does  not  last  long. 
The  bellies  swell,  the  eggs  are  ripening  in 
the  ovaries,  marriage  and  laying-time  are  at 
hand.  Then  a  sort  of  jealous  fury  bursts 
out,  though  there  is  an  entire  absence  of 
males  who  might  be  held  responsible  for 
138 


The  Mantis:  her  Love-making 

feminine  rivalry.  The  working  of  the 
ovaries  seems  to  pervert  the  flock,  inspiring 
its  members  with  a  mania  for  devouring 
one  another.  There  are  threats,  personal 
encounters,  cannibal  feasts.  Once  more  the 
spectral  pose  appears,  the  hissing  of  the 
wings,  the  fearsome  gesture  of  the  grapnels 
outstretched  and  uplifted  in  the  air.  No 
hostile  demonstration  in  front  of  a  Grey 
Locust  or  White-faced  Decticus  could  be 
more  menacing. 

For  no  reason  that  I  can  gather,  two 
neighbours  suddenly  assume  their  attitude  of 
war.  They  turn  their  heads  to  right  and 
left,  provoking  each  other,  exchanging  in- 
sulting glances.  The  "  Puff !  Puff !  "  of 
the  wings  rubbed  by  the  abdomen  sounds 
the  charge.  When  the  duel  is  to  be  limited 
to  the  first  scratch  received,  without  more 
serious  consequences,  the  lethal  fore-arms, 
which  are  usually  kept  folded,  open  like  the 
leaves  of  a  book  and  fall  back  sideways,  en- 
circling the  long  bust.  It  is  a  superb  pose, 
but  less  terrible  than  that  adopted  in  a  fight 
to  the  death. 

Then  one  of  the  grapnels,  with  a  sudden 
spring,  shoots  out  to  its  full  length  and 
strikes  the  rival;  it  is  no  less  abruptly  with- 
139 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

drawn  and  resumes  the  defensive.  The  ad- 
versary hits  back.  The  fencing  is  rather 
like  that  of  two  Cats  boxing  each  other's 
ears.  At  the  first  blood  drawn  from  her 
flabby  paunch,  or  even  before  receiving  the 
least  wound,  one  of  the  duellists  confesses 
herself  beaten  and  retires.  The  other  furls 
her  battle-standard  and  goes  off  elsewhither 
to  meditate  the  capture  of  a  Locust,  keeping 
apparently  calm,  but  ever  ready  to  repeat  the 
quarrel. 

Very  often,  events  take  a  more  tragic 
turn.  At  such  times,  the  full  posture  of  the 
duels  to  the  death  is  assumed.  The  mur- 
derous fore-arms  are  unfolded  and  raised  in 
the  air.  Woe  to  the  vanquished !  The  other 
seizes  her  in  her  vice  and  then  and  there  pro- 
ceeds to  eat  her,  beginning  at  the  neck,  of 
course.  The  loathsome  feast  takes  place  as 
calmly  as  though  it  were  a  matter  of  crunch- 
ing up  a  Grasshopper.  The  diner  enjoys  her 
sister  as  she  would  a  lawful  dish;  and  those 
around  do  not  protest,  being  quite  willing  to 
do  as  much  on  the  first  occasion. 

Oh,  what  savagery!     Why,  even  Wolves 

are  said  not  to  eat  one  another.    The  Mantis 

has  no  such  scruples;  she  banquets  off  her 

fellows  when  there  is  plenty  of  her  favourite 

140 


The  Mantis:  her  Love-making 

game,  the  Locust,  around  her.  She  prac- 
tises the  equivalent  of  cannibalism,  that  hide- 
ous peculiarity  of  man. 

These  aberrations,  these  child-bed  crav- 
ings can  reach  an  even  more  revolting  stage. 
Let  us  watch  the  pairing  and,  to  avoid  the 
disorder  of  a  crowd,  let  us  isolate  the  couples 
under  different  covers.  Each  pair  shall  have 
its  own  home,  where  none  will  come  to  dis- 
turb the  wedding.  And  let  us  not  forget 
the  provisions,  with  which  we  will  keep  them 
well  supplied,  so  that  there  may  be  no  ex- 
cuse of  hunger. 

It  is  near  the  end  of  August.  The  male, 
that  slender  swain,  thinks  the  moment  pro- 
pitious. He  makes  eyes  at  his  strapping 
companion;  he  turns  his  head  in  her  direc- 
tion; he  bends  his  neck  and  throws  out  his 
chest.  His  little  pointed  face  wears  an  almost 
impassioned  expression.  Motionless,  in  this 
posture,  for  a  long  time  he  contemplates  the 
object  of  his  desire.  She  does  not  stir,  is  as 
though  indifferent.  The  lover,  however,  has 
caught  a  sign  of  acquiescence,  a  sign  of  which 
I  do  not  know  the  secret.  He  goes  nearer; 
suddenly  he  spreads  his  wings,  which  quiver 
with  a  convulsive  tremor.  That  is  his 
declaration.  He  rushes,  small  as  he  is,  upon 
141 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  back  of  his  corpulent  companion,  clings 
on  as  best  he  can,  steadies  his  hold.  As  a 
rule,  the  preliminaries  last  a  long  time.  At 
last,  coupling  takes  place  and  is  also  long 
drawn  out,  lasting  sometimes  for  five  or  six 
hours. 

Nothing  worthy  of  attention  happens  be- 
tween the  two  motionless  partners.  They 
end  by  separating,  but  only  to  unite  again  in 
a  more  intimate  fashion.  If  the  poor  fellow 
is  loved  by  his  lady  as  the  vivifier  of  her 
ovaries,  he  is  also  loved  as  a  piece  of  highly- 
flavoured  game.  And,  that  same  day,  or  at 
latest  on  the  morrow,  he  is  seized  by  his 
spouse,  who  first  gnaws  his  neck,  in  accord- 
ance with  precedent,  and  then  eats  him  de- 
liberately, by  little  mouthfuls,  leaving  only 
the  wings.  Here  we  have  no  longer  a  case 
of  jealousy  in  the  harem,  but  simply  a  de- 
praved appetite. 

I  was  curious  to  know  what  sort  of  recep- 
tion a  second  male  might  expect  from  a  re- 
cently fertilized  female.  The  result  of  my 
enquiry  was  shocking.  The  Mantis,  in  many 
cases,  is  never  sated  with  conjugal  raptures 
and  banquets.  After  a  rest  that  varies  in 
length,  whether  the  eggs  be  laid  or  not,  a 
second  male  is  accepted  and  then  devoured 
143 


The  Mantis:  her  Love-making 

like  the  first.  A  third  succeeds  him,  per- 
forms his  function  in  life,  is  eaten  and  dis- 
appears. A  fourth  undergoes  a  like  fate. 
In  the  course  of  two  weeks  I  thus  see  one 
and  the  same  Mantis  use  up  seven  males. 
She  takes  them  all  to  her  bosom  and  makes 
them  all  pay  for  the  nuptial  ecstasy  with 
their  lives. 

Orgies  such  as  this  are  frequent,  in  vary- 
ing degrees,  though  there  are  exceptions. 
On  very  hot  days,  highly  charged  with  elec- 
tricity, they  are  almost  the  general  rule.  At 
such  times  the  Mantes  are  in  a  very  irritable 
mood.  In  the  cages  containing  a  large 
colony,  the  females  devour  one  another  more 
than  ever;  in  the  cages  containing  separate 
pairs,  the  males,  after  coupling, .  are  more 
than  ever  treated  as  an  ordinary  prey. 

I  should  like  to  be  able  to  say,  in  mitiga- 
tion of  these  conjugal  atrocities,  that  the 
Mantis  does  not  behave  like  this  in  a  state 
of  liberty;  that  the  male,  after  doing  his 
duty,  has  time  to  get  out  of  the  way,  to  make 
off,  to  escape  from  his  terrible  mistress,  for 
in  my  cages  he  is  given  a  respite,  lasting 
sometimes  until  next  day.  What  really  oc- 
curs in  the  thickets  I  do  not  know,  chance, 
a  poor  resource,  having  never  instructed  me 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

concerning  the  love-affairs  of  the  Mantis 
when  at  large.  I  can  only  go  by  what  hap- 
pens in  the  cages,  where  the  captives,  enjoy- 
ing plenty  of  sunshine  and  food  and  spacious 
quarters,  do  not  seem  to  suffer  from  home- 
sickness in  any  way.  What  they  do  here  they 
must  also  do  under  normal  conditions. 

Well,  what  happens  there  utterly  refutes 
the  idea  that  the  males  are  given  time  to 
escape.  I  find,  by  themselves,  a  horrible 
couple  engaged  as  follows.  The  male, 
absorbed  in  the  performance  of  his  vital 
functions,  holds  the  female  in  a  tight  em- 
brace. But  the  wretch  has  no  head;  he 
has  no  neck;  he  has  hardly  a  body.  The 
other,  with  her  muzzle  turned  over  her 
shoulder  continues  very  placidly  to  gnaw  what 
remains  of  the  gentle  swain.  And,  all  the 
time,  that  masculine  stump,  holding  on 
firmly,  goes  on  with  the  business ! 

Love  is  stronger  than  death,  men  say. 
Taken  literally,  the  aphorism  has  never  re- 
ceived a  more  brilliant  confirmation.  A 
headless  creature,  an  insect  amputated  down 
to  the  middle  of  the  chest,  a  very  corpse  per- 
sists in  endeavouring  to  give  life.  It  will 
not  let  go  until  the  abdomen,  the  seat  of  the 
procreative  organs,  is  attacked. 
144 


The  Mantis:  her  Love-making 

Eating  the  lover  after  consummation  of 
marriage,  making  a  meal  of  the  exhausted 
dwarf,  henceforth  good  for  nothing,  can  be 
understood,  to  some  extent,  in  the  insect 
world,  which  has  no  great  scruples  in  mat- 
ters of  sentiment;  but  gobbling  him  up  dur- 
ing the  act  goes  beyond  the  wildest  dreams 
of  the  most  horrible  imagination.  I  have 
seen  it  done  with  my  own  eyes  and  have  not 
yet  recovered  from  my  astonishment. 

Was  this  one  able  to  escape  and  get  out  of 
the  way,  caught  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
duty?  Certainly  not.  Hence  we  must  infer 
that  the  loves  of  the  Mantis  are  tragic, 
quite  as  much  as  the  Spider's  and  perhaps 
even  more  so.  I  admit  that  the  restricted 
space  inside  the  cages  favours  the  slaughter 
of  the  males;  but  the  cause  of  these  mas- 
sacres lies  elsewhere. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  relic  of  the  palaeozoic  ages, 
when,  in  the  carboniferous  period,  the  in- 
sect came  into  being  as  the  result  of  mon- 
strous amours.  The  Orthoptera,  to  whom 
the  Mantes  belong,  are  the  first-born  of  the 
entomological  world.  Rough-hewn,  incom- 
plete in  their  transformation,  they  roamed 
among  the  arborescent  ferns  and  were  al- 
ready flourishing  when  none  of  the  insects 
145 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

concerning  the  love-affairs  of  the  Mantis 
when  at  large.  I  can  only  go  by  what  hap- 
pens in  the  cages,  where  the  captives,  enjoy- 
ing plenty  of  sunshine  and  food  and  spacious 
quarters,  do  not  seem  to  suffer  from  home- 
sickness in  any  way.  What  they  do  here  they 
must  also  do  under  normal  conditions. 

Well,  what  happens  there  utterly  refutes 
the  idea  that  the  males  are  given  time  to 
escape.  I  find,  by  themselves,  a  horrible 
couple  engaged  as  follows.  The  male, 
absorbed  in  the  performance  of  his  vital 
functions,  holds  the  female  in  a  tight  em- 
brace. But  the  wretch  has  no  head;  he 
has  no  neck;  he  has  hardly  a  body.  The 
other,  with  her  muzzle  turned  over  her 
shoulder  continues  very  placidly  to  gnaw  what 
remains  of  the  gentle  swain.  And,  all  the 
time,  that  masculine  stump,  holding  on 
firmly,  goes  on  with  the  business ! 

Love  is  stronger  than  death,  men  say. 
Taken  literally,  the  aphorism  has  never  re- 
ceived a  more  brilliant  confirmation.  A 
headless  creature,  an  insect  amputated  down 
to  the  middle  of  the  chest,  a  very  corpse  per- 
sists in  endeavouring  to  give  life.  It  will 
not  let  go  until  the  abdomen,  the  seat  of  the 
procreative  organs,  is  attacked. 
144 


The  Mantis:  her  Love-making 

Eating  the  lover  after  consummation  of 
marriage,  making  a  meal  of  the  exhausted 
dwarf,  henceforth  good  for  nothing,  can  be 
understood,  to  some  extent,  in  the  insect 
world,  which  has  no  great  scruples  in  mat- 
ters of  sentiment;  but  gobbling  him  up  dur- 
ing the  act  goes  beyond  the  wildest  dreams 
of  the  most  horrible  imagination.  I  have 
seen  it  done  with  my  own  eyes  and  have  not 
yet  recovered  from  my  astonishment. 

Was  this  one  able  to  escape  and  get  out  of 
the  way,  caught  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
duty?  Certainly  not.  Hence  we  must  infer 
that  the  loves  of  the  Mantis  are  tragic, 
quite  as  much  as  the  Spider's  and  perhaps 
even  more  so.  I  admit  that  the  restricted 
space  inside  the  cages  favours  the  slaughter 
of  the  males;  but  the  cause  of  these  mas- 
sacres lies  elsewhere. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  relic  of  the  palaeozoic  ages, 
when,  in  the  carboniferous  period,  the  in- 
sect came  into  being  as  the  result  of  mon- 
strous amours.  The  Orthoptera,  to  whom 
the  Mantes  belong,  are  the  first-born  of  the 
entomological  world.  Rough-hewn,  incom- 
plete in  their  transformation,  they  roamed 
among  the  arborescent  ferns  and  were  al- 
ready flourishing  when  none  of  the  insects 
145 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

•  The  usual  dimensions  are  four  centimetres 
in  length  and  two  in  width.1  The  colour  is 
as  golden  as  a  grain  of  wheat.  When  set 
alight,  the  material  burns  readily  and  ex- 
hales a  faint  smell  of  singed  silk.  The  sub- 
stance is  in  fact  akin  to  silk;  only,  instead 
of  being  drawn  into  thread,  it  has  curdled 
into  a  frothy  mass.  When  the  nest  is  fixed 
to,  a  branch,  the  base  goes  round  the  nearest 
twigs,  envelops  them  and  assumes  a  shape 
which  varies  in  accordance  with  the  support 
encountered;  when  it  is  fixed  to  a  flat  sur- 
face, the  under  side,  which  is  always 
moulded  on  the  support,  is  itself  flat.  The 
nest  thereupon  takes  the  form  of  a  semi- 
ellipsoid,  more  or  less  blunt  at  one  end, 
tapering  at  the  other  and  often  ending  in  a 
short,  curved  tail. 

Whatever  the  support,  the  upper  surface 
of  the  nest  is  systematically  convex.  We 
can  distinguish  in  it  three  well-marked  longi- 
tudinal zones.  The  middle  one,  which  is 
narrower  than  the  others,  is  composed  of 
little  plates  or  scales  arranged  in  pairs  and 
overlapping  like  the  tiles  of  a  roof.  The 
edges  of  these  plates  are  free,  leaving  two 
parallel  rows  of  slits  or  fissures  through 

1 1.56  in.  X  .78  in. — Translator's  Note. 
148 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

which  the  young  emerge  at  hatching-time. 
In  a  recently-abandoned  nest,  this  middle 
zone  is  furry  with  gossamer  skins,  discarded 
by  the  larvae.  These  cast  skins  flutter  at  the 
least  breath  and  soon  vanish  when  exposed 
to  rough  weather.  I  will  call  it  the  exit- 
zone,  because  it  is  only  along  this  median 
belt  that  the  liberation  of  the  young  takes 
place,  thanks  to  the  outlets  contrived  before- 
hand. 

In  every  other  part  the  cradle  of  the 
numerous  family  presents  an  impenetrable 
wall.  The  two  side  zones,  in  fact,  which 
occupy  the  greater  part  of  the  semiellipsoid, 
have  perfect  continuity  of  surface.  The 
little  Mantes,  so  feeble  at  the  start,  could 
never  make  their  way  out  through  so  tough 
a  substance.  All  that  we  see  on  it  is  a  num- 
ber of  fine,  transversal  furrows,  marking  the 
various  layers  of  which  the  mass  of  eggs 
consists. 

Cut  the  nest  across.  It  will  now  be  per- 
ceived that  the  eggs,  taken  together,  form  an 
elongated  kernel,  very  hard  and  firm  and 
coated  on  the  sides  with  a  thick,  porous  rind, 
like  solidified  foam.  Above  are  curved 
plates,  set  very  closely  and  almost  inde- 
pendent of  one  another;  their  edges  end  in 
149 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  exit-zone,  where  they  form  a  double  row 
of  small,  imbricated  scales. 

The  eggs  are  buried  in  a  yellow  matrix  of 
horny  appearance.  They  are  placed  in 
layers,  shaped  like  segments  of  a  circle,  with 
the  ends  containing  the  heads  converging  to- 
wards the  exit-zone.  This  arrangement  tells 
us  how  the  deliverance  is  accomplished.  The 
new-born  larvae  will  slip  into  the  space  left 
between  two  adjoining  plates,  a  prolongation 
of  the  kernel,  where  they  will  find  a  narrow 
passage,  difficult  to  go  through,  but  just  suf- 
ficient when  we  bear  in  mind  the  curious 
provision  of  which  we  shall  speak  presently; 
and  by  so  doing  they  will  reach  the  middle 
belt.  Here,  under  the  imbricated  scales,  two 
outlets  open  for  each  layer  of  eggs.  Half 
of  the  larvae  undergoing  their  liberation  will 
emerge  through  the  right  door,  half  through 
the  left.  And  this  is  repeated  for  each  layer 
from  end  to  end  of  the  nest. 

To  sum  up  these  structural  details,  which 
are  rather  difficult  to  grasp  for  any  one  who 
has  not  the  thing  in  front  of  him :  lying  along 
the  axis  of  the  nest  and  shaped  like  a  date- 
stone  is  the  cluster  of  eggs,  grouped  in  layers. 
A  protecting  rind,  a  sort  of  solidified  foam, 
surrounds  this  cluster,  except  at  the  top  along 
150 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

the  median  line,  where  the  frothy  rind  is  re- 
placed by  thin  plates  set  side  by  side.  The 
free  ends  of  these  plates  form  the  exit-zone 
outside ;  they  are  imbricated  in  two  series  of 
scales  and  leave  a  couple  of  outlets,  narrow 
clefts,  for  each  layer  of  eggs. 

The  most  striking  part  of  my  researches 
was  being  present  at  the  construction  of 
the  nest  and  seeing  how  the  Mantis  goes  to 
work  to  produce  so  complex  a  building.  I 
managed  it  with  some  difficulty,  for  the  lay- 
ing takes  place  without  warning  and  nearly 
always  at  night.  After  much  useless  waiting, 
chance  at  last  favoured  me.  On  the  5th  of 
September,  one  of  my  boarders,  who  had 
been  fertilized  on  the  2Qth  of  August,  de- 
cided to  lay  her  eggs  before  my  eyes  at 
about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Before  watching  her  labour,  let  us  note 
one  thing:  all  the  nests  that  I  have  obtained 
in  the  cages — and  there  are  a  good  many  of 
them — have  as  their  support,  with  not  a 
single  exception,  the  wire  gauze  of  the 
covers.  I  had  taken  care  to  place  at  the 
Mantes'  disposal  a  few  rough  bits  of  stone, 
a  few  tufts  of  thyme,  foundations  very  often 
used  in  the  open  fields.  My  captives  pre- 
ferred the  wire  network,  whose  meshes  fur- 
151 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

nish  a  perfectly  safe  support  as  the  soft  ma- 
terial of  the  building  becomes  encrusted 
in  them. 

The  nests,  under  natural  conditions,  enjoy 
no  shelter ;  they  have  to  endure  the  inclemen- 
cies of  winter,  to  withstand  rain,  wind,  frost 
and  snow  without  coming  loose.  Therefore 
the  mother  always  chooses  an  uneven  sup- 
port for  the  nest,  so  that  the  foundations 
can  be  wedged  into  it  and  a  firm  hold  ob- 
tained. But,  when  circumstances  permit,  the 
better  is  preferred  to  the  middling  and  the 
best  to  the  better;  and  this  must  be  the  reason 
why  the  trelliswork  of  the  cages  is  invariably 
adopted. 

The  only  Mantis  that  I  have  been  allowed 
to  observe  while  engaged  in  laying  does  her 
work  upside  down,  hanging  from  the  top  of 
the  cage.  My  presence,  my  magnifying- 
glass,  my  investigations  do  not  disturb  her  at 
all,  so  great  is  her  absorption  in  her  labour. 
I  can  raise  the  trellised  dome,  tilt  it,  turn  it 
over,  spin  it  this  way  and  that,  without  the 
insect's  suspending  its  task  for  a  moment. 
I  can  take  my  forceps  and  lift  the  long  wings 
to  see  what  is  happening  underneath.  The 
Mantis  takes  no  notice.  Up  to  this  point, 
all  is  well:  the  mother  does  not  move  and 
152 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

impassively  endures  all  the  indiscretions  of 
which  I  am  guilty  as  an  observer.  And  yet 
things  do  not  go  quite  as  I  could  wish,  for 
the  operation  is  too  rapid  and  is  too  difficult 
to  follow. 

The  end  of  the  abdomen  is  immersed  the 
whole  time  in  a  sea  of  foam,  which  prevents 
us  from  grasping  the  details  of  the  process 
with  any  clearness.  This  foam  is  greyish- 
white,  a  little  sticky  and  almost  like  soapsuds. 
When  it  first  appears,  it  adheres  slightly  to 
a  straw  which  I  dip  into  it,  but,  two  minutes 
afterwards,  it  is  solidified  and  no  longer 
sticks  to  the  straw.  In  a  very  short  time, 
its  consistency  is  that  which  we  find  in  an 
old  nest. 

The  frothy  mass  consists  mainly  of  air 
imprisoned  in  little  bubbles.  This  air,  which 
gives  the  nest  a  volume  much  greater  than 
that  of  the  Mantis'  belly,  obviously  does  not 
come  from  the  insect,  though  the  foam 
appears  at  the  entrance  of  the  genital  or- 
gans; it  is  taken  from  the  atmosphere.  The 
Mantis,  therefore,  builds  above  all  with  air, 
which  is  eminently  suited  to  protect  the  nest 
against  the  weather.  She  discharges  a  sticky 
substance,  similar  to  the  caterpillars'  silk- 
fluid;  and  with  this  composition,  which  amal- 
153 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

gamates  instantly  with  the  outer  air,  she  pro- 
duces foam. 

She  whips  her  product  just  as  we  whip 
white  of  egg  to  make  it  rise  and  froth.  The 
tip  of  the  abdomen,  opening  with  a  long 
cleft,  forms  two  lateral  ladles  which  meet 
and  separate  with  a  constant,  rapid  move- 
ment, beating  the  sticky  fluid  and  turning  it 
into  foam  as  it  is  discharged  outside.  In 
addition,  between  the  two  flapping  ladles, 
we  see  the  internal  organs  rising  and  falling, 
appearing  and  disappearing,  after  the 
manner  of  a  piston-rod,  without  being  able 
to  distinguish  their  precise  action,  drowned 
as  they  are  in  the  opaque  stream  of  foam. 

The  end  of  the  abdomen,  ever  throbbing, 
quickly  opening  and  closing  its  valves, 
swings  from  right  to  left  and  left  to  right 
like  a  pendulum.  The  result  of  each  swing 
is  a  layer  of  eggs  inside  and  a  transversal 
furrow  outside.  As  the  abdomen  advances 
in  the  arc  described,  suddenly  and  at  very 
close  intervals  it  dips  deeper  into  the  foam, 
as  though  it  were  pushing  something  to  the 
bottom  of  the  frothy  mass.  Each  time,  no 
doubt,  an  egg  is  laid;  but  things  happen  so 
fast  and  under  conditions  so  unfavourable 
to  observation  that  I  never  once  succeed  in 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

seeing  the  ovipositor  at  work.  I  can  judge 
of  the  arrival  of  the  eggs  only  by  the  move- 
ments of  the  tip  of  the  abdomen,  which  sud- 
denly drives  down  and  immerses  itself  more 
deeply. 

At  the  same  time,  the  viscous  stuff  is 
poured  forth  in  intermittent  waves  and 
whipped  and  turned  into  foam  by  the  two 
terminal  valves.  The  froth  obtained  spreads 
over  the  sides  of  the  layer  of  eggs  and  at 
the  base,  where  I  see  it,  pressed  back  by  the 
abdomen,  projecting  through  the  meshes  of 
the  gauze.  Thus  the  spongy  covering  is 
gradually  brought  into  being  as  the  ovaries 
are  emptied. 

I  imagine,  without  being  able  to  rely  on 
direct  observation,  that  for  the  central 
kernel,  where  the  eggs  are  contained  in  a 
more  homogeneous  material  than  the  rind, 
the  Mantis  employs  her  product  as  it  is,  with- 
out beating  it  up  and  making  it  foam.  When 
the  eggs  are  deposited,  the  two  valves  would 
produce  foam  to  cover  them.  Once  again, 
however,  all  this  is  very  difficult  to  follow 
under  the  veil  of  the  bubbling  mass. 

In  a  new  nest,  the  exit-zone  is  coated  with 
a  layer  of  fine  porous  matter,  of  a  pure,  dull, 
almost  chalky  white,  which  contrasts  with 
155 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  dirty  white  of  the  remainder  of  the  nest. 
It  is  like  the  composition  which  confectioners 
make  out  of  whipped  white  of  egg,  sugar 
and  starch,  with  which  to  ornament  their 
cakes.  This  snowy  covering  is  very  easily 
crumbled  and  removed.  When  it  is  gone,  the 
exit-zone  is  clearly  defined,  with  its  two  rows 
of  plates  with  free  edges.  The  weather,  the 
wind  and  the  rain  sooner  or  later  remove  it 
in  strips  and  flakes;  and  therefore  the  old 
nests  retain  no  traces  of  it. 

At  the  first  inspection,  one  might  be 
tempted  to  look  upon  this  snowy  matter  as 
a  different  substance  from  the  remainder  of 
the  nest.  But  can  it  be  that  the  Mantis 
really  employs  two  different  products?  By 
no  means.  Anatomy,  to  begin  with,  assures 
us  of  the  unity  of  the  materials.  The  organ 
that  secretes  the  substance  of  the  nest  con- 
sists of  twisted  cylindrical  tubes,  divided  into 
two  sections  of  twenty  each.  All  are  filled 
with  a  colourless,  viscous  fluid,  exactly  similar 
in  appearance  wherever  we  look.  There  is 
nowhere  any  sign  of  a  product  with  a  chalky 
colouring. 

The  manner  in  which  the  snowy  ribbon  is 
formed  also  makes  us  reject  the  theory  of 
different  materials.  We  see  the  Mantis'  two 
156 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

caudal  threads  sweeping  the  surface  of  the 
foamy  mass,  skimming,  so  to  speak,  the  top 
of  the  froth,  collecting  it  and  retaining  it 
along  the  back  of  the  nest  to  form  a  band 
that  looks  like  a  ribbon  of  icing.  What  re- 
mains after  this  sweeping,  or  what  trickles 
from  the  band  before  it  sets,  spreads  over 
the  sides  in  a  thin  wash  of  bubbles  so  fine 
that  they  cannot  be  seen  without  the  magni- 
fying-glass. 

The  surface  of  a  muddy  stream  contain- 
ing clay  will  be  covered  with  coarse  and 
dirty  foam,  churned  up  by  the  rushing  tor- 
rent. On  this  foam,  soiled  with  earthy 
materials,  we  see  here  and  there  masses  of 
beautiful  white  froth,  with  smaller  bubbles. 
Selection  is  due  to  the  difference  in  density; 
and  so  the  snow-white  foam  in  places  lies  on 
top  of  the  dirty  foam  whence  it  proceeds. 
Something  similar  happens  when  the  Mantis 
builds  her  nest.  The  twin  ladles  reduce 
to  foam  the  sticky  spray  from  the  glands. 
The  thinnest  and  lightest  portion,  made 
whiter  by  its  more  delicate  porousness, 
rises  to  the  surface,  where  the  caudal  threads 
sweep  it  up  and  gather  it  into  a  snowy  ribbon 
along  the  back  of  the  nest. 

Until  now,  with  a  little  patience,  observa- 
157 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

tion  has  been  practicable  and  has  given  satis- 
factory results.  It  becomes  impossible  when 
we  come  to  the  very  complex  structure  of 
that  middle  zone  where  exits  are  contrived 
for  the  emergence  of  the  larvae  under  the 
shelter  of  a  double  row  of  imbricated  plates. 
The  little  that  I  am  able  to  make  out  amounts 
to  this:  the  tip  of  the  abdomen,  split  wide 
from  top  to  bottom,  forms  a  sort  of  button- 
hole whose  upper  end  remains  almost  fixed 
while  the  lower  end,  in  swinging,  produces 
foam  and  immerses  eggs  in  it.  It  is  that 
upper  end  which  is  undoubtedly  responsible 
for  the  work  of  the  middle  zone.  I  always 
see  it  in  the  extension  of  that  zone,  in  the 
midst  of  the  fine  white  foam  collected  by 
the  caudal  filaments.  These,  one  on  the 
right,  the  other  on  the  left,  mark  the 
boundaries  of  the  band.  They  feel  its  edges ; 
they  seem  to  be  testing  the  work.  I  can 
easily  imagine  them  two  long  and  exquisitely 
delicate  fingers  controlling  the  difficult  busi- 
ness of  construction. 

But  how  are  the  two  rows  of  scales  ob- 
tained and  the  fissures,  the  exit-doors,  which 
they  shelter?  I  do  not  know.  I  cannot 
even  guess.  I  leave  the  rest  of  the  problem 
to  others. 

158 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

What  a  wonderful  mechanism  is  this 
which  emits  so  methodically  and  swiftly  the 
horny  matrix  of  the  central  kernel,  the  pro- 
tecting froth,  the  white  foam  of  the  median 
ribbon,  the  eggs  and  the  fertilizing  fluid  and 
which  at  the  same  time  is  able  to  build  over- 
lapping plates,  imbricated  scales  and  alter- 
nating open  fissures!  We  are  lost  in  ad- 
miration. And  yet  how  easily  the  work  is 
done !  The  Mantis  hangs  motionless  on  the 
wire  gauze  which  is  the  foundation  of  her 
nest.  She  gives  not  a  glance  at  the  edifice 
that  is  rising  behind  her;  her  legs  are  not 
called  upon  for  assistance  of  any  kind.  The 
thing  works  of  itself.  We  have  here  not  an 
industrial  task  requiring  the  cunning  of  in- 
stinct; it  is  a  purely  automatic  process,  regu- 
lated by  the  insect's  tools  and  organization. 
The  nest,  with  its  highly  complicated  struc- 
ture, proceeds  solely  from  the  play  of  the 
organs,  even  as  in  our  own  industries  we 
manufacture  by  machinery  a  host  of  objects 
whose  perfection  would  outwit  our  manual 
dexterity. 

From  another  point  of  view,  the  Mantis' 
nest  is  more  remarkable  still.  We  see  in  it 
a  superb  application  of  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful principles  of  physics,  that  of  the  con- 
159 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

servation  of  heat.  The  Mantis  anticipated 
us  in  a  knowledge  of  non-conducting  bodies. 

We  owe  to  Rumford,1  the  natural  phi- 
losopher, the  following  curious  experiment, 
which  fittingly  demonstrates  the  low  con- 
ductivity of  the  air.  The  illustrious  scientist 
dropped  a  frozen  cheese  into  a  mass  of  foam 
supplied  by  well-beaten  eggs.  The  whole 
was  subjected  to  the  heat  of  an  oven.  The 
result  in  a  short  time  was  an  omelette 
soufflee  hot  enough  to  burn  the  tongue,  with 
the  cheese  in  the  middle  as  cold  as  at  the 
beginning.  The  air  contained  in  the  bubbles 
of  the  surrounding  froth  explains  the  strange 
phenomenon.  As  an  exceedingly  poor  thermal 
conductor,  it  had  arrested  the  heat  of 
the  oven  and  prevented  it  from  reaching  the 
frozen  substance  in  the  centre. 

Now  what  does  the  Mantis  do?  Pre- 
cisely the  same  as  Rumford :  she  whips  her 
white  of  egg  into  an  omelette  soufflee,  to 
protect  the  eggs  collected  into  a  central 
kernel.  Her  aim,  it  is  true,  is  reversed :  her 
coagulated  foam  is  intended  to  ward  off  the 
cold,  not  the  heat.  But  a  protection  against 

1  Benjamin  Thompson  (1753-1814),  an  American  loyal- 
ist, created  Count  Rumford  in  Bavaria,  where  he  became 
minister   for   war.     He   discovered   the  convertibility  of 
mechanical  energy  into  heat. — Translator's  Note. 
1 60 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

one  is  a  protection  against  the  other;  and 
the  ingenious  physicist,  had  he  wished,  could 
easily  with  the  same  frothy  wrapper  have 
maintained  the  heat  of  a  body  in  cold  sur- 
roundings. 

Rumford  knew  the  secrets  of  the  stratum 
of  air  thanks  to  the  accumulated  knowledge 
of  his  ancestors,  his  own  researches  and  his 
own  studies.  How  is  it  that  for  no  one 
knows  how  many  centuries  the  Mantis  has 
beaten  our  natural  philosophers  in  the  matter 
of  this  delicate  problem  of  heat?  How  did 
she  come  to  think  of  wrapping  a  blanket  of 
foam  around  her  mass  of  eggs,  which,  fixed 
without  any  shelter  to  a  twig  or  stone,  has 
to  endure  the  rigours  of  winter  with  im- 
punity ? 

The  other  Mantidse  of  my  neighbourhood, 
the  only  ones  of  whom  I  can  speak  with  full 
knowledge,  use  the  non-conducting  wrapper 
of  solidified  foam  or  do  without  it,  accord- 
ing as  the  eggs  are  destined  to  live  through 
the  winter  or  not.  The  little  Grey  Mantis, 
who  differs  so  greatly  from  the  other  owing 
to  the  almost  entire  absence  of  wings  in  the 
female,  builds  a  nest  not  quite  so  big  as  a 
cherry-stone  and  covers  it  very  cleverly  with 
a  rind  of  froth.  Why  this  beaten-up  en- 
161 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

velope?  Because  the  nest  of  the  Grey 
Mantis,  like  that  of  the  Praying  Mantis,  has 
to  last  through  the  winter,  exposed  on  its 
bough  or  stone  to  all  the  dangers  of  the  bad 
weather. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  her  size, 
which  is  equal  to  that  of  the  Praying  Mantis, 
Empusa  pauperata,  who  is  the  most  curious 
of  our  insects,  builds  a  nest  as  small  as  that  of 
the  Grey  Mantis.  It  is  a  very  modest  edifice, 
consisting  of  a  small  number  of  cells  set  side 
by  side  in  three  or  four  rows  joined  together. 
Here  there  is  no  frothy  envelope  at  all, 
though  the  nest,  like  those  mentioned  above, 
is  fixed  in  an  exposed  situation  on  some  twig 
or  broken  stone.  This  absence  of  a  non- 
conducting mattress  points  to  a  difference  in 
climatic  conditions.  The  Empusa's  eggs,  in 
fact,  hatch  soon  after  they  are  laid,  during 
the  fine  weather.  Not  having  to  undergo 
the  inclemencies  of  winter,  they  have  no  pro- 
tection but  the  slender  sheath  of  their  cases. 

Are  these  scrupulous  and  rational  precau- 
tions, which  rival  Rumford's  omelette  souf- 
flee,  a  casual  result,  one  of  those  numberless 
combinations  turned  out  by  the  wheel  of  for- 
tune? If  so,  let  us  not  shrink  from  any 
absurdity,  but  recognize  straightway  that  the, 
162 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

blindness  of  chance  is  endowed  with  mar- 
vellous foresight. 

The  blunt  end  of  the  nest  is  the  first  part 
built  by  the  Praying  Mantis  and  the  tapering 
end  the  last.  The  latter  is  often  prolonged 
into  a  sort  of  spur  made  by  drawing  out 
the  final  drop  of  albuminous  fluid  used. 
To  complete  the  whole  thing  demands  about 
two  hours  of  concentrated  work,  free  from 
interruption. 

As  soon  as  the  laying  is  finished,  the 
mother  withdraws,  callously.  I  expected  to 
see  her  return  and  display  some  tender  feel- 
ing for  the  cradle  of  her  family.  But  there 
is  not  the  least  sign  of  maternal  joy.  The 
work  is  done  and  possesses  no  further  interest 
for  her.  Some  Locusts  have  come  up.  One 
even  perches  on  the  nest.  The  Mantis 
pays  no  attention  to  the  intruders.  They  are 
peaceful,  it  is  true.  Would  she  drive  them 
away  if  they  were  dangerous  and  if  they 
looked  like  ripping  open  the  egg-casket? 
Her  impassive  behaviour  answers  no.  What 
is  the  nest  to  her  henceforth?  She  knows  it 
no  more. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  repeated  coupling  of 
the  Praying  Mantis  and  of  the  tragic  end  of 
the  male,  who  is  nearly  always  devoured  like 
163 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

an  ordinary  piece  of  game.  In  the  space  of 
a  fortnight  I  have  seen  the  same  female 
marry  again  as  many  as  seven  times  over. 
Each  time  the  easily-consoled  widow  ate  up 
her  mate.  Such  habits  make  one  assume  re- 
peated layings;  and  these  do,  in  fact,  take 
place,  though  they  are  not  the  general  rule. 
Among  my  mothers,  some  gave  me  only  one 
nest;  others  supplied  me  with  two,  both 
equally  large.  The  most  fertile  produced 
three,  of  which  the  first  two  were  of  normal 
size,  while  the  third  was  reduced  to  half 
the  usual  dimensions. 

The  last-mentioned  insect  shall  tell  us  the 
population  which  the  Mantis'  ovaries  are 
capable  of  producing.  Reckoning  by  the 
transversal  furrows  of  the  nest,  we  can  easily 
count  the  layers  of  eggs.  These  are  more  or 
less  rich  according  to  their  position  at  the 
middle  of  the  ellipsoid  or  at  the  ends.  The 
numbers  of  the  eggs  in  the  biggest  and  in 
the  smallest  layer  furnish  an  average  from 
which  we  can  approximately  deduce  the  total. 
In  this  way  I  find  that  a  good-sized  nest  con- 
tains about  four  hundred  eggs.  The  mother 
with  the  three  nests,  the  last  of  which  was 
only  half  the  size  of  the  others,  therefore 
left  as  her  offspring  no  fewer  than  a  thou- 
164 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

sand  germs;  those  who  laid  twice  left  eight 
hundred;  and  the  less  fertile  mothers  three 
to  four  hundred.  In  every  case,  it  is  a  fine 
family,  which  would  even  become  cumbrous, 
if  it  were  not  subjected  to  drastic  pruning. 

The  pretty  little  Grey  Mantis  is  much  less 
lavish.  In  my  cages  she  lays  only  once ;  and 
her  nest  contains  some  sixty  eggs  at  most. 
Although  built  on  the  same  principles  and 
likewise  fixed  in  the  open,  it  differs  remark- 
ably from  the  work  of  the  Praying  Mantis, 
first  in  its  scanty  dimensions  and  next  in  cer- 
tain details  of  structure.  It  is  shaped  like  a 
shelving  ridge.  The  two  sides  are  curved 
and  the  median  line  projects  into  a  slightly 
denticulated  crest.  It  is  grooved  crosswise 
by  about  a  dozen  furrows,  corresponding 
with  the  several  layers  of  eggs.  Here  we 
find  no  exit-zone,  with  short,  imbricated 
scales ;  no  snowy  ribbon  with  alternating  out- 
lets. The  whole  surface,  including  the 
foundation,  is  uniformly  covered  with  a  shiny 
red-brown  rind,  in  which  the  bubbles  are  very 
small.  One  end  is  ogival  in  shape;  the  other, 
the  end  where  the  nest  finishes,  is  abruptly 
truncated  and  is  prolonged  above  in  a  short 
spur.  The  whole  forms  a  kernel  surrounded 
by  the  foamy  rind.  Like  the  Praying 
165 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Mantis,  the  Grey  Mantis  works  at  night,  an 
unfortunate  circumstance  for  the  observer. 

Large  in  size,  curious  in  build  and  more- 
over plainly  visible  on  its  stone  or  its  bit  of 
brushwood,  the  Praying  Mantis'  nest  could 
not  fail  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  Pro- 
vengal  peasant.  It  is,  in  fact,  very  well- 
known  in  the  country  districts,  where  it  bears 
the  name  of  tigno;  it  even  enjoys  a  great 
reputation.  Yet  nobody  seems  to  be  aware 
of  its  origin.  It  is  always  a  matter  for  sur- 
prise to  my  rustic  neighbours  when  I  inform 
them  that  the  famous  tlgno  is  the  nest  of  the 
common  Prego-Dieu.  Their  ignorance  might 
well  be  due  to  the  Mantis'  habit  of  laying 
her  eggs  at  night.  The  insect  has  never  been 
caught  working  at  her  nest  in  the  mysterious 
darkness;  and  the  link  between  the  worker 
and  the  work  is  missing,  though  both  are 
known  to  every  one  in  the  village. 

No  matter:  the  singular  object  exists;  it 
attracts  the  eye,  it  captivates  the  attention. 
It  must  therefore  be  good  for  something,  it 
must  possess  virtues.  Thus,  throughout  the 
ages,  have  the  ingenuous  argued,  hoping  to 
find  in  the  unfamiliar  an  alleviation  of  their 
pains. 

By  general  consent,  the  rural  pharma- 
166 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

copoeia,  in  Provence,  extols  the  tlgno  as  the 
best  remedy  against  chilblains.  The  way  to 
employ  it  is  exceedingly  simple.  You  cut  the 
thing  in  two,  squeeze  it  and  rub  the  afflicted 
part  with  the  streaming  juice.  The  remedy, 
they  say,  works  like  a  charm.  Every  one 
mad  with  the  itching  of  blue  and  swollen 
fingers  hastens  to  have  recourse  to  the  tigno, 
according  to  traditional  custom.  Does  he 
really  obtain  relief? 

Notwithstanding  the  unanimous  convic- 
tion, I  venture  to  doubt  it,  after  the  fruitless 
experiments  tried  upon  myself  and  other 
members  of  my  household  during  the  winter 
of  1895,  when  the  long  and  severe  frost  pro- 
duced any  amount  of  epidermic  discomfort. 
Not  one  of  us,  when  smeared  with  the  cele- 
brated ointment,  saw  the  chilblains  on  his 
fingers  decrease  nor  felt  the  irritation  re- 
lieved in  the  slightest  degree  by  the  al- 
buminous varnish  of  the  crushed  tigno.  It 
seems  probable  that  others  are  no  more  suc- 
cessful and  that  the  popular  reputation  of 
the  specific  nevertheless  survives,  probably 
because  of  a  mere  identity  of  name  between 
the  remedy  and  the  disease:  the  Provencal 
for  chilblain  is  tigno.  Once  that  the  nest  of 
the  Praying  Mantis  and  the  chilblain  are 
167 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

known  by  the  same  name,  do  not  the  virtues 
of  the  former  become  obvious?  That  is 
how  reputations  are  created. 

In  my  village  and  no  doubt  for  some  di- 
stance around,  the  tigno — I  am  now  speaking 
of  the  Mantis'  nest — is  also  highly  praised 
as  a  wonderful  cure  for  toothache.  As  long 
as  you  have  it  on  you,  you  need  never  fear 
that  trouble.  Our  housewives  gather  it 
under  a  favourable  moon;  they  preserve  it 
religiously  in  a  corner  of  the  press ;  they  sew 
it  into  their  pocket,  lest  they  should  lose  it 
when  taking  out  their  handkerchief;  and 
neighbours  borrow  it  when  tortured  by  some 
molar. 

"Lend  me  your  tlgno:  I  am  in  agony," 
says  the  sufferer  with  the  swollen  face. 

The  other  hastens  to  unstitch  and  to  hand 
over  the  precious  object : 

"  Don't  lose  it,  whatever  you  do,"  she 
impresses  on  her  friend.  "  It's  the  only  one 
I  have ;  and  this  isn't  the  right  time  of  moon." 

Let  us  not  laugh  at  this  eccentric 
toothache-nostrum:  many  remedies  that 
sprawl  triumphantly  over  the  back  pages 
of  the  newspapers  are  no  more  effective. 
Besides,  this  rural  simplicity  is  surpassed 
by  some  old  books  in  which  slumbers  the 
168 


The  Mantis:  her  Nest 

science  of  by-gone  days.  An  English  natural- 
ist of  the  sixteenth  century,  Thomas  Moffett, 
the  physician,1  tells  us  that,  if  a  child 
lose  his  way  in  the  country,  he  will  ask 
the  Mantis  to  put  him  on  his  road.  The 
Mantis,  adds  the  author,  "  will  stretch  out 
one  of  her  feet  and  shew  him  the  right  way 
and  seldome  or  never  misse."  These  charm- 
ing things  are  told  with  adorable  simplicity : 

"  Tarn  divina  censetur  bestiola,  ut  puero 
interroganti  de  via,  extent  o  digito  red  am 
monstrat  atque  raro  vel  nunquam  fallat." 

Where  did  the  credulous  scholar  get  this 
pretty  story?  Not  in  England,  where  the 
Mantis  cannot  live;  not  in  Provence,  where 
we  find  no  trace  of  the  boyish  question.  All 
said,  I  prefer  the  spiflicating  virtues  of  the 
tigno  to  the  old  naturalist's  imaginings. 

1  Thomas  Moffett,  Moufet,  or  Muffet  (1553-1604),  au- 
thor of  a  posthumous  Insectorum  sive  Minimorum 
Animalium  Teatrum,  published  in  Latin  in  1634  and  in 
an  English  translation,  by  Edward  Topsell,  in  1658.  Al- 
though giving  credence  to  too  many  fabulous  reports, 
Moffett  was  acknowledged  the  prince  of  entomologists 
prior  to  the  advent  of  Jan  Swammerdam  (1637-1680). — 
Translator's  Note. 


169 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  MANTIS:  HER  HATCHING 

THE  eggs  of  the  Praying  Mantis  usually 
hatch  in  bright  sunshine,  at  about  ten 
o'clock  on  a  mid- June  morning.  The  median 
band  or  exit-zone  is  the  only  portion  of  the 
nest  that  affords  an  outlet  to  the  youngsters. 
From  under  each  scale  of  that  zone  we 
see  slowly  appearing  a  blunt,  transparent 
protuberance,  followed  by  two  large  black 
specks,  which  are  the  eyes.  Softly  the  new- 
born grub  slips  under  the  thin  plate  and  half- 
releases  itself.  Is  it  the  little  Mantis  in  his 
larval  form,  so  nearly  allied  to  that  of  the 
adult?  Not  yet.  It  is  a  transition  organism. 
The  head  is  opalescent,  blunt,  swollen,  with 
palpitations  caused  by  the  flow  of  the  blood. 
The  rest  is  tinted  reddish-yellow.  It  is  quite 
easy  to  distinguish,  under  a  general  overall, 
the  large  black  eyes  clouded  by  the  veil  that 
covers  them,  the  mouth-parts  flattened 
against  the  chest,  the  legs  plastered  to  the 
170 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

body  from  front  to  back.  Altogether,  with 
the  exception  of  the  very  obvious  legs,  the 
whole  thing,  with  its  big  blunt  head,  its  eyes, 
its  delicate  abdominal  segmentation  and  its 
boatlike  shape,  reminds  us  somewhat  of  the 
first  state  of  the  Cicadae  on  leaving  the  egg, 
a  state  which  is  pictured  exactly  by  a  tiny, 
finless  fish. 

Here  then  is  a  second  instance  of  an  or- 
ganization of  very  brief  duration  having  as 
its  function  to  bring  into  the  light  of  day, 
through  narrow  and  difficult  passes,  a  micro- 
scopic creature  whose  limbs,  if  free,  would, 
because  of  their  length,  be  an  insurmountable 
impediment.  To  enable  him  to  emerge  from 
the  exiguous  tunnel  of  his  twig,  a  tunnel 
bristling  with  woody  fibres  and  blocked  with 
shells  already  empty,  the  Cicada  is  born 
swathed  in  bands  and  endowed  with  a  boat 
shape,  which  is  eminently  suited  to  slipping 
easily  through  an  awkward  passage.  The 
young  Mantis  is  exposed  to  similar  difficult- 
ies. He  has  to  emerge  from  the  depths  of 
the  nest  through  narrow,  winding  ways,  in 
which  full-spread,  slender  limbs  would  not  be 
able  to  find  room.  The  high  stilts,  the  mur- 
derous harpoons,  the  delicate  antennas,  or- 
gans which  will  be  most  useful  presently,  in 
171 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  brushwood,  would  now  hinder  the  emer- 
gence, would  make  it  very  laborious,  impossi- 
ble. The  creature  therefore  comes  into  ex- 
istence swaddled  and  furthermore  takes  the 
shape  of  a  boat. 

The  case  of  the  Cicada  and  the  Mantis 
opens  up  a  new  vein  to  us  in  the  inexhaustible 
entomological  mine.  I  extract  from  it  a  law 
which  other  and  similar  facts,  picked  up 
more  or  less  everywhere,  will  certainly  not 
fail  to  confirm.  The  true  larva  is  not  always 
the  direct  product  of  the  egg.  When  the  new- 
born grub  is  likely  to  experience  special  dif- 
ficulties in  effecting  its  deliverance,  an  access- 
ory organism,  which  I  shall  continue  to  call 
the  primary  larva,  precedes  the  genuine 
larval  state  and  has  as  its  function  to  bring 
to  the  light  of  day  the  tiny  creature  which  is 
incapable  of  releasing  itself. 

To  go  on  with  our  story,  the  primary 
larvae  show  themselves  under  the  thin  plates 
of  the  exit-zone.  A  vigorous  flow  of  hu- 
mours occurs  in  the  head,  swelling  it  out  and 
converting  it  into  a  diaphanous  and  ever- 
throbbing  blister.  In  this  way  the  splitting- 
apparatus  is  prepared.  At  the  same  time, 
the  little  creature,  half-caught  under  its  scale, 
sways,  pushes  forward,  draws  back.  Each 
172 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

swaying  is  accompanied  by  an  increase  of 
the  swelling  in  the  head.  At  last  the  pro- 
thorax  arches  and  the  head  is  bent 
low  towards  the  chest.  The  tunic  bursts 
across  the  prothorax.  The  little  animal  tugs, 
wriggles,  sways,  bends  and  straightens  itself 
again.  The  legs  are  drawn  from  their 
sheaths;  the  antennae,  two  long  parallel 
threads,  are  likewise  released.  The  creature 
is  now  fastened  to  the  nest  only  by  a  worn- 
out  cord.  A  few  shakes  complete  the  de- 
liverance. 

We  here  have  the  insect  in  its  genuine 
larval  form.  All  that  remains  behind  is  a 
sort  of  irregular  cord,  a  shapeless  clout 
which  the  least  breath  blows  about  like  a 
flimsy  bit  of  fluff.  It  is  the  exit-tunic  vio- 
lently shed  and  reduced  to  a  mere  rag. 

For  all  my  watchfulness,  I  missed  the  mo- 
ment of  hatching  in  the  case  of  the  Grey 
Mantis.  The  little  that  I  know  is  reduced  to 
this:  at  the  end  of  the  spur  or  promontory 
with  which  the  nest  finishes  in  front  is  a  small, 
dull-white  speck,  formed  of  very  powdery 
foam.  This  round  pore  is  only  just  plugged 
with  a  frothy  stopper  and  constitutes  the  sole 
outlet  from  the  nest,  which  is  thoroughly 
strengthened  at  every  other  part.  It  takes 
173 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  place  of  the  long  band  of  scales  through 
which  the  Praying  Mantis  is  released.  It  is 
here  that  the  youngsters  must  emerge  one  by 
one  from  their  casket.  Chance  does  not 
favour  me  and  I  do  not  witness  the  exodus, 
but,  soon  after  the  family  has  come  forth, 
I  see  dangling  at  the  entrance  to  the  libera- 
ting pore  a  shapeless  bunch  of  white  cast-off 
clothes,  thin  skins  which  a  puff  of  wind 
would  disperse.  These  are  the  garments 
flung  aside  by  the  young  as  they  make  their 
appearance  in  the  open  air;  and  they  testify 
to  the  presence  of  a  transition  wrapper 
which  permits  of  movement  inside  the  maze 
of  the  nest.  The  Grey  Mantis  therefore  also 
has  her  primary  larva,  which  packs  itself  up 
in  a  narrow  sheath,  conducive  to  escape. 
The  period  of  this  emergence  is  June. 

To  return  to  the  Praying  Mantis.  The 
hatching  does  not  take  place  all  over  the 
nest  at  one  time,  but  rather  in  sections,  in 
successive  swarms  which  may  be  separated 
by  intervals  of  two  days  or  more.  The 
pointed  end,  containing  the  last  eggs,  usually 
begins.  This  inversion  of  chronological  or- 
der, calling  the  last  to  the  light  of  day  before 
the  first,  may  well  be  due  to  the  shape  of 
the  nest.  The  thin  end,  which  is  more  ac- 
174 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

cessible  to  the  stimulus  of  a  fine  day,  wakes 
up  before  the  blunt  end,  which  is  larger  and 
does  not  so  soon  acquire  the  necessary 
amount  of  heat. 

Sometimes,  however,  although  still  broken 
up  in  swarms,  the  hatching  embraces  the 
whole  length  of  the  exit-zone.  A  striking 
sight  indeed  is  the  sudden  exodus  of  a  hun- 
dred young  Mantes.  Hardly  does  the  tiny 
creature  show  its  black  eyes  under  a  scale  be- 
fore others  appear  instantly,  in  their  num- 
bers. It  is  as  though  a  certain  shock  were 
being  communicated  from  one  to  another,  as 
though  an  awakening  signal  were  trans- 
mitted, so  swiftly  does  the  hatching  spread 
all  round.  Almost  in  a  moment  the  median 
band  is  covered  with  young  Mantes  who  run 
about  feverishly,  stripping  themselves  of 
their  rent  garments. 

The  nimble  little  creatures  do  not  stay  long 
on  the  nest.  They  let  themselves  drop  off 
or  else  clamber  into  the  nearest  foliage.  All 
is  over  in  less  than  twenty  minutes.  The 
common  cradle  resumes  its  peaceful  condi- 
tion, prior  to  furnishing  a  new  legion  a  few 
days  later;  and  so  on  until  all  the  eggs  are 
finished. 

I  have  witnessed  this  exodus  as  often  as 
175 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

I  wished  to,  either  out  of  doors,  in  my  en- 
closure, where  I  had  deposited  in  sunny 
places  the  nests  gathered  more  or  less  every- 
where during  my  winter  leisure,  or  else  in 
the  seclusion  of  a  greenhouse,  where  I 
thought,  in  my  simplicity,  that  I  should  be 
better  able  to  protect  the  budding  family.  I 
have  witnessed  the  hatching  twenty  times  if 
I  have  once;  and  I  have  always  beheld  a 
scene  of  unforgetable  carnage.  The  round- 
bellied  Mantis  may  procreate  germs  by  the 
thousands:  she  will  never  have  enough  to 
cope  with  the  devourers  who  are  destined  to 
decimate  the  breed  from  the  moment  that  it 
leaves  the  egg. 

The  Ants  above  all  are  zealous  extermina- 
tors. Daily  I  surprise  their  ill-omened 
visits  on  my  rows  of  nests.  It  is  vain  for  me 
to  intervene,  however  seriously;  their  assi- 
duity never  slackens.  They  seldom  succeed 
in  making  a  breach  in  the  fortress:  that  is 
too  difficult;  but,  greedy  of  the  dainty  flesh 
in  course  of  formation  inside,  they  await  a 
favourable  opportunity,  they  lie  in  wait  for 
the  exit. 

Despite  my  daily  watchfulness,  they  are 
there  the  moment  that  the  young  Mantes  ap- 
pear. They  grab  them  by  the  abdomen,  pull 
176 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

them  out  of  their  sheaths,  cut  them  up.  You 
see  a  piteous  fray  between  tender  babes 
gesticulating  as  their  only  means  of  defence 
and  ferocious  brigands  carrying  their  spolia 
opima  at  the  end  of  their  mandibles.  In  less 
than  no  time  the  massacre  of  the  innocents  is 
consummated;  and  all  that  remains  of  the 
flourishing  family  is  a  few  scattered  survivors 
who  have  escaped  by  accident. 

The  future  assassin,  the  scourge  of  the 
insect  race,  the  terror  of  the  Locust  on  the 
brushwood,  the  dread  devourer  of  fresh 
meat,  is  herself  devoured,  from  her  birth,  by 
one  of  the  least  of  that  race,  the  Ant.  The 
ogress,  prolific  to  excess,  sees  her  family 
thinned  by  the  dwarf.  But  the  slaughter  is 
not  long  continued.  So  soon  as  she  has  ac- 
quired a  little  firmness  from  the  air  and 
strengthened  her  legs,  the  Mantis  ceases  to 
be  attacked.  She  trots  about  briskly  among 
the  Ants,  who  fall  back  as  she  passes,  no 
longer  daring  to  tackle  her.  With  her 
grappling-legs  brought  close  to  her  chest,  like 
arms  ready  for  self-defence,  already  she 
strikes  awe  into  them  by  her  proud  bearing. 

A  second  connoisseur  in  tender  meats  pays 
no  heed  to  these  threats.  This  is  the  little 
Grey  Lizard,  the  lover  of  sunny  walls.  Ap- 
177 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

prised  I  know  not  how  of  the  quarry,  here 
he  comes,  picking  up  one  by  one,  with  the  tip 
of  his  slender  tongue,  the  stray  insects  that 
have  escaped  the  Ants.  They  make  a  small 
mouthful  but  an  exquisite  one,  so  it  seems, 
to  judge  by  the  blinking  of  the  reptile's  eye. 
For  each  little  wretch  gulped  down,  its  lid 
half-closes,  a  sign  of  profound  satisfaction. 
I  drive  away  the  bold  Lizard  who  ventures 
to  perpetrate  his  raid  before  my  eyes.  He 
comes  back  again  and,  this  time,  pays  dearly 
for  his  rashness.  If  I  let  him  have  his  way, 
I  should  have  nothing  left. 

Is  this  all?  Not  yet.  Another  ravager, 
the  smallest  of  all  but  not  the  least  formida- 
ble, has  anticipated  the  Lizard  and  the  Ant. 
This  is  a  very  tiny  Hymenopteron  armed 
with  a  probe,  a  Chalcis,  who  establishes  her 
eggs  in  the  newly-built  nest.  The  Mantis' 
brood  shares  the  fate  of  the  Cicada's: 
parasitic  vermin  attack  the  eggs  and  empty 
the  shells.  Out  of  all  that  I  have  collected  I 
often  obtain  nothing  or  hardly  anything. 
The  Chalcis  has  been  that  way. 

Let  us  gather  up  what  the  various  ex- 
terminators, known  or  unknown,  have  left 
me.  When  newly  hatched,  the  larva  is  of  a 
pale  hue,  white  faintly  tinged  with  yellow. 
178 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

The  swelling  of  its  head  soon  diminishes  and 
disappears.  Its  colour  is  not  long  in  darken- 
ing and  turns  light-brown  within  twenty-four 
hours.  The  little  Mantis  very  nimbly  lifts 
up  her  grappling-legs,  opens  and  closes  them; 
she  turns  her  head  to  right  and  left;  she  curls 
her  abdomen.  The  fully-developed  larva 
has  no  greater  litheness  and  agility.  For  a 
few  minutes  the  family  stops  where  it  is, 
swarming  over  the  nest;  then  it  scatters  at 
random  on  the  ground  and  the  plants  hard 
by. 

I  instal  a  few  dozen  emigrants  under  bell- 
covers.  On  what  shall  I  feed  these  future 
huntresses  ?  On  game,  obviously.  But  what 
game?  To  these  miniature  creatures  I  can 
only  offer  atoms.  I  serve  them  up  a  rose- 
branch  covered  with  Green  Fly.  The  plump 
Aphis,  a  tender  morsel  suited  to  my  feeble 
guests,  is  utterly  scorned.  Not  one  of  the 
captives  touches  it. 

I  try  them  with  Midges,  the  smallest  that 
chance  flings  into  my  net  as  it  sweeps  the 
grass,  and  meet  with  the  same  obstinate  re- 
fusal. I  offer  them  pieces  of  Fly,  hung  here 
and  there  on  the  gauze  of  the  cover.  None 
accepts  my  quarters  of  venison.  Perhaps 
the  Locust  will  tempt  them,  the  Locust  on 
179 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

whom  the  adult  Mantis  dotes?  A  prolonged 
and  minute  search  places  me  in  possession  of 
what  I  want.  This  time  the  bill  of  fare  will 
consist  of  a  few  recently  hatched  Acridians. 
Young  as  they  are,  they  have  already  reached 
the  size  of  my  charges.  Will  the  little 
Mantes  fancy  these?  They  do  not  fancy 
them :  at  the  sight  of  their  tiny  prey  they  run 
away  dismayed. 

Then  what  do  you  want?  What  other 
game  do  you  find  on  your  native  brushwood? 
I  can  see  nothing.  Can  you  have  some 
special  infants'  food,  vegetarian  perhaps? 
Let  us  even  try  the  improbable.  The  very 
tenderest  bit  of  the  heart  of  a  lettuce  is  de- 
clined. So  are  the  different  sorts  of  grass 
which  I  tax  my  ingenuity  in  varying;  so  are 
the  drops  of  honey  which  I  place  on  spikes 
of  lavender.  All  my  endeavours  come  to 
nothing;  and  my  captives  die  of  inanition. 

My  failure  has  its  lessons.  It  seems  to 
point  to  a  transition  diet  which  I  have  not 
been  able  to  discover.  Long  ago,  the  larvae 
of  the  Oil-beetles  gave  me  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  before  I  knew  that  they  want  as  their 
first  food  the  egg  of  the  Bee  whose  store  of 
honey  they  will  afterwards  consume.  Per- 
haps the  young  Mantes  also  in  the  begin- 
180 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

ning  demand  a  special  pap,  something  more 
in  keeping  with  their  frailty.  Despite  its 
resolute  air,  I  do  not  quite  see  the  feeble 
little  creature  hunting.  The  game,  what- 
ever it  be,  kicks  out,  when  attacked,  frisks 
about,  defends  itself;  and  the  assailant  is 
not  yet  in  a  condition  to  ward  off  even  the 
flap  of  a  Midge's  wing.  Then  what  does 
it  feed  on?  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
there  were  interesting  facts  to  be  picked  up 
in  this  baby-food  question. 

These  fastidious  ones,  so  difficult  to  pro- 
vide with  nourishment,  meet  with  even  more 
pitiful  deaths  than  hunger.  When  only  just 
born,  they  fall  a  prey  to  the  Ant,  the  Lizard 
and  other  ravagers  who  lie  in  wait,  patiently, 
for  the  exquisite  provender  to  hatch.  The 
egg  itself  is  not  respected.  An  infinitesimal 
perforator  inserts  her  own  eggs  in  the  nest 
through  the  barrier  of  solidified  foam,  thus 
settling  her  offspring,  which,  maturing  ear- 
lier, nips  the  Mantis'  family  in  the  bud.  How 
many  are  called  and  how  few  are  chosen! 
There  were  a  thousand  of  them  perhaps, 
sprung  from  one  mother  who  was  capable 
of  giving  birth  to  three  broods.  One  couple 
alone  escapes  extermination,  one  alone  keeps 
up  the  breed,  seeing  that  the  number  re- 
181 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

mains  more  or  less  the  same  from  year  to 
year. 

Here  a  serious  question  arises.  Can  the 
Mantis  have  acquired  her  present  fecundity 
by  degrees  ?  Can  she,  as  the  ravages  of  the 
Ant  and  others  reduced  her  progeny,  have 
increased  the  output  of  her  ovaries  so  as  to 
make  up  for  excessive  destruction  by  ex- 
cessive production?  Could  the  enormous 
brood  of  to-day  be  due  to  the  wastage  of 
former  days?  So  think  some,  who  are 
ready,  without  convincing  proofs,  to  see  in 
animals  even  more  profound  changes  brought 
about  by  circumstances. 

In  front  of  my  window,  on  the  sloping 
margin  of  the  pond,  stands  a  magnificent 
cherry-tree.  It  came  there  by  accident,  a 
sturdy  wilding,  disregarded  by  my  prede- 
cessors and  to-day  respected  far  more  for  its 
spreading  branches  than  for  its  fruit,  which 
is  of  very  indifferent  quality.  In  April  it 
forms  a  splendid  white-satin  dome.  Its 
blossoms  are  as  snow;  their  fallen  petals  car- 
pet the  ground.  Soon  the  red  cherries  ap- 
pear in  profusion.  O  my  beautiful  tree,  how 
lavish  you  are  and  what  a  number  of  baskets 
you  will  fill  I 

And  for  this  reason  what  revelry  up 
182 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

above !  The  Sparrow  is  the  first  to  hear  of 
the  ripe  cherries  and  comes  trooping,  morn- 
ing and  evening,  to  pilfer  and  squall;  he  in- 
forms his  friends  in  the  neighbourhood,  the 
Greenfinch  and  the  Warbler,  who  hasten  up 
and  banquet  for  weeks  on  end.  Butterflies 
flit  from  one  nibbled  cherry  to  another, 
taking  delicious  sips  at  each.  Rose-chafers 
bite  great  mouthfuls  out  of  the  fruit,  then 
fall  asleep  sated.  Wasps  and  Hornets  burst 
open  the  sweet  caskets;  and  the  Gnats  follow 
to  get  drunk  in  their  wake.  A  plump  mag- 
got, settled  in  the  very  centre  of  the  pulp, 
blissfully  feasts  upon  its  juicy  dwelling-house 
and  waxes  big  and  fat.  It  will  rise  from 
table  to  change  into  a  comely  Fly. 

On  the  ground  there  are  others  at  the 
banquet.  A  host  of  footpads  is  battening 
on  the  fallen  cherries.  At  night,  the  Field- 
mice  come  gathering  the  stones  stripped 
by  the  Wood-lice,  Earwigs,  Ants  and  Slugs; 
they  hoard  them  in  their  burrows.  During 
the  long  winter  they  will  make  holes  in  them 
to  extract  and  nibble  the  kernels.  A  num- 
berless throng  lives  upon  the  generous  cherry- 
tree. 

What  would  the  tree  require  to  provide 
a  successor  one  day  and  maintain  its  species 
183 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

in  a  state  of  harmonious  and  well-balanced 
prosperity?  A  single  seed  would  be  enough; 
and  every  year  it  gives  forth  bushels  and 
bushels.  Tell  me  why,  please. 

Shall  we  say  that  the  cherry-tree,  at  first 
very  economical  with  its  fruit,  became  lavish 
by  degrees  in  order  thus  to  escape  its  multi- 
tudinous ravagers?  Shall  we  say  of  the  tree, 
as  we  said  of  the  Mantis,  that  excessive  de- 
struction gradually  induced  excessive  produc- 
tion? Who  would  dare  to  venture  on  such 
rash  statements?  Is  it  not  perfectly  obvious 
that  the  cherry-tree  is  one  of  those  factories 
in  which  elements  are  wrought  into  organic 
matter,  one  of  those  laboratories  in  which 
the  dead  thing  is  changed  into  the  thing 
fitted  to  live  ?  No  doubt,  cherries  ripen  that 
they  may  be  perpetuated;  but  these  are  the 
minority,  the  very  small  minority.  If  all 
seeds  were  to  sprout  and  to  develop  fully, 
there  would  long  ago  have  been  no  room  on 
the  earth  for  the  cherry-tree  alone.  The 
vast  majority  of  its  fruits  fulfil  another  func- 
tion. They  serve  as  food  for  a  crowd  of 
living  creatures,  who  are  not  skilled  as  the 
plant  is  in  the  transcendental  chemistry 
that  turns  the  uneatable  into  the  eatable. 

Matter,  in  order  to  serve  in  the  highest 
184 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

manifestations  of  life,  must  undergo  slow 
and  most  delicate  elaboration.  That  elabo- 
ration begins  in  the  workshop  of  the  infinitely 
small,  of  the  microbe,  for  instance,  one  of 
which,  more  powerful  than  the  lightning's 
might,  combines  oxygen  and  nitrogen  and 
produces  nitrates,  the  primary  food  of 
plants.  It  begins  on  the  confines  of  nothing- 
ness, is  improved  in  the  vegetal,  is  yet  further 
refined  in  the  animal  and  step  by  step  attains 
the  substance  of  the  brain. 

How  many  hidden  labourers,  how  many 
unknown  manipulators  worked  perhaps  for 
centuries,  first  at  getting  the  rough  ore  and 
then  at  the  refining  of  that  grey  matter  which 
becomes  the  brain,  the  most  marvellous  of 
the  implements  of  the. mind,  even  if  it  were 
capable  only  of  making  us  say : 

"  Two  and  two  are  four !  " 

The  rocket,  when  rising,  reserves  for  the 
culminating  point  of  its  ascent  the  dazzling 
fountain  of  its  many-coloured  lights.  Then 
all  is  dark  again.  Its  smoke,  its  gases,  its 
oxides  will,  in  the  long  run,  be  able  to  recon- 
stitute other  explosives  by  vegetable  pro- 
cesses. Even  so  does  matter  act  in  its  meta- 
morphoses. From  stage  to  stage,  from  one 
delicate  refinement  to  another  yet  more  deli- 
185 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

cate,  it  succeeds  in  attaining  heights  where 
the  splendours  of  the  intellect  shine  forth 
through  its  agency;  then,  shattered  by  the 
effort,  it  relapses  into  the  nameless  thing 
whence  it  started,  into  scattered  molecules 
which  are  the  common  origin  of  living  things. 

At  the  head  of  the  assemblers  of  organic 
matter  stands  the  plant,  the  animal's  senior. 
Directly  or  indirectly,  it  is  to-day,  as  it  was 
in  the  geological  period,  the  chief  purveyor 
to  beings  more  generously  endowed  with  life. 
In  the  laboratory  of  its  cell  the  food  of  the 
universe  at  least  gets  its  first  rough  prepara- 
tion. Comes  the  animal,  which  corrects  the 
preparation,  improves  it  and  transmits  it  to 
others  of  a  higher  order.  Cropped  grass 
becomes  mutton ;  and  mutton  becomes  human 
flesh  or  Wolf-flesh,  according  to  the  con- 
sumer. 

Among  those  elaborators  of  nourishing 
atoms  which  do  not  create  organic  matter  out 
of  any-  and  everything,  starting  with  the 
mineral,  as  the  plant  does,  the  most  prolific 
are  the  fishes,  the  first-born  of  vertebrate 
animals.  Ask  the  Cod  what  she  does  with 
her  millions  of  eggs.  Her  answer  will  be 
that  of  the  beech  with  its  myriads  of  nuts, 
or  the  oak  with  its  myriads  of  acorns.  She 
186 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

is  immensely  fruitful  in  order  to  feed  an  im- 
mense number  of  the  hungry.  She  is  con- 
tinuing the  work  which  her  predecessors  per- 
formed in  remote  ages,  when  nature,  not  as 
yet  rich  in  organic  matter,  hastened  to  in- 
crease her  reserves  of  life  by  bestowing 
prodigious  exuberance  upon  her  primeval 
workers. 

The  Mantis,  like  the  fish,  dates  back  to 
those  distant  epochs.  Her  strange  shape 
and  her  uncouth  habits  have  told  us  so.  The 
richness  of  her  ovaries  confirms  it.  She  re- 
tains in  her  entrails  a  feeble  relic  of  the  pro- 
creative  fury  that  prevailed  in  olden  times 
under  the  dank  shade  of  the  arborescent 
ferns ;  she  contributes,  in  a  very  humble  but 
none  the  less  real  measure,  to  the  sublime 
alchemy  of  living  things. 

Let  us  look  closely  at  her  work.  The 
grass  grows  thick  and  green,  drawing  its 
nourishment  from  the  earth.  The  Locust 
crops  it.  The  Mantis  makes  a  meal  of  the 
Locust  and  swells  out  with  eggs,  which  are 
laid,  in  three  batches,  to  the  number  of  a 
thousand.  When  they  hatch,  up  comes  the 
Ant  and  levies  an  enormous  tribute  on  the 
brood.  We  appear  to  be  retroceding.  In 
vastness  of  bulk,  yes;  in  refinement  of  in- 
187 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

stinct,  certainly  not.  In  this  respect  how  far 
superior  is  the  Ant  to  the  Mantis !  Besides, 
the  cycle  of  possible  happenings  is  not  closed. 

Young  Ants  still  contained  in  their  cocoon 
— popularly  known  as  Ants'-eggs — form  the 
food  on  which  the  Pheasant's  brood  is 
reared.  These  are  domestic  poultry  just  as 
much  as  the  Pullet  and  the  Capon,  but  their 
keep  makes  greater  demands  on  the  owner's 
care  and  purse.  When  it  grows  big,  this 
poultry  is  let  loose  in  the  woods;  and  people 
calling  themselves  civilized  take  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  bringing  down  with  their  guns 
the  poor  creatures  which  have  lost  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  in  the  pheasantries, 
or,  to  speak  plainly,  in  the  poultry-yard. 
You  cut  the  throat  of  the  Chicken  required 
for  roasting;  you  shoot,  with  all  the  parade 
of  sport,  that  other  Chicken,  the  Pheasant. 
I  fail  to  understand  those  insensate  mas- 
sacres. 

Tartarin  of  Tarascon,  in  the  absence  of 
game,  used  to  shoot  at  his  cap.  I  prefer 
that.  And  above  all  I  prefer  the  hunting, 
real  hunting,  of  another  fervent  consumer 
of  Ants,  the  Wryneck,  the  Tiro-lengo  of  the 
Provenqaux,  so-called  because  of  his  scien- 
tific method  of  darting  his  immensely-long 
188 


The  Mantis:  her  Hatching 

and  sticky  tongue  across  a  procession  of  Ants 
and  then  suddenly  withdrawing  it  all  black 
with  the  limed  insects.  With  such  mouthfuls 
as  these,  the  Wryneck  becomes  disgracefully 
fat  in  autumn ;  he  plasters  himself  with  butter 
on  his  rump  and  sides  and  under  his  wings; 
he  hangs  a  string  of  it  round  his  neck;  he 
pads  his  skull  with  it  right  down  to  the  beak. 

He  is  then  delicious,  roasted:  small,  I  ad- 
mit; no  bigger  than  a  Lark,  at  the  outside; 
but,  small  though  he  be,  unlike  anything  else 
and  immeasurably  superior  to  the  Pheasant, 
who  must  begin  to  go  bad  before  developing 
a  flavour  at  all. 

Let  me  for  this  once  do  justice  to  the  merit 
of  the  humblest!  When  the  table  is  cleared 
after  the  evening  meal  and  all  is  quiet  and 
my  body  relieved  for  the  time  being  of  its 
physiological  needs,  sometimes  I  succeed  in 
picking  up,  here  and  there,  a  good  idea  or 
two;  and  it  may  well  be  that  the  Mantis,  the 
Locust,  the  Ant  and  even  lesser  creatures 
contribute  to  these  sudden  gleams  of  light 
which  flash  unaccountably  into  one's  mind. 
By  strange  and  devious  paths,  they  have  all 
supplied,  in  their  respective  ways,  the  drop  of 
oil  that  feeds  the  lamp  of  thought.  Their 
energies,  slowly  developed,  stored  up  and 
189 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

handed  down  by  predecessors,  become  in- 
fused into  our  veins  and  sustain  our  weak- 
ness. We  live  by  their  death. 

To  conclude.  The  Mantis,  prolific  to  ex- 
cess, in  her  turn  makes  organic  matter, 
bequeathing  it  to  the  Ant,  who  bequeaths  it 
to  the  Wryneck,  who  bequeaths  it  perhaps  to 
man.  She  procreates  a  thousand,  partly  to 
perpetuate  her  species,  but  far  more  than  she 
may  contribute,  according  to  her  means,  to 
the  general  picnic  of  the  living.  She  brings 
us  back  to  the  ancient  symbol  of  the  Serpent 
biting  its  own  tail.  The  world  is  an  endless 
circle :  everything  finishes  so  that  everything 
may  begin  again;  everything  dies  so  that 
everything  may  live. 


190 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   EMPUSA 

THE  sea,  life's  first  foster-mother,  still 
preserves  in  her  depths  many  of  those 
singular  and  incongruous  shapes  which  were 
the  earliest  attempts  of  the  animal  kingdom; 
the  land,  less  fruitful,  but  with  more  ca- 
pacity for  progress,  has  almost  wholly  lost 
the  strange  forms  of  other  days.  The  few 
that  remain  belong  especially  to  the  series  of 
primitive  insects,  insects  exceedingly  limited 
in  their  industrial  powers  and  subject  to  very 
summary  metamorphoses,  if  to  any  at  all. 
In  my  district,  in  the  front  rank  of  those 
entomological  anomalies  which  remind  us  of 
the  denizens  of  the  old  coal-forests,  stand 
the  Mantidse,  including  the  Praying  Mantis, 
so  curious  in  habits  and  structure.  Here  also 
is  the  Empusa  (E.  pauperata,  LATR.),  the 
subject  of  this  chapter. 

Her  larva  is  certainly  the  strangest  crea- 
ture  among  the   terrestrial   fauna   of  Pro- 
191 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

vence :  a  slim,  swaying  thing  of  so  fantastic 
an  appearance  that  uninitiated  fingers  dare 
not  lay  hold  of  it.  The  children  of  my 
neighbourhood,  impressed  by  its  startling 
shape,  call  it  "  the  Devilkin."  In  their  im- 
aginations, the  queer  little  creature  savours 
of  witchcraft.  One  comes  across  it,  though 
always  sparsely,  in  spring,  up  to  May;  in 
autumn ;  and  sometimes  in  winter,  if  the  sun 
be  strong.  The  tough  grasses  of  the  waste- 
lands, the  stunted  bushes  which  catch  the  sun 
and  are  sheltered  from  the  wind  by  a  few 
heaps  of  stones  are  the  chilly  Empusa's 
favourite  abode. 

Let  us  give  a  rapid  sketch  of  her.  The 
abdomen,  which  always  curls  up  so  as  to  join 
the  back,  spreads  paddlewise  and  twists  into 
a  crook.  Pointed  scales,  a  sort  of  foliaceous 
expansions  arranged  in  three  rows,  cover  the 
lower  surface,  which  becomes  the  upper  sur- 
face because  of  the  crook  aforesaid.  The 
scaly  crook  is  propped  on  four  long,  thin 
stilts,  on  four  legs  armed  with  knee-pieces, 
that  is  to  say,  carrying  at  the  end  of  the  thigh, 
where  it  joins  the  shin,  a  curved,  projecting 
blade  not  unlike  that  of  a  cleaver. 

Above  this  base,  this  four-legged  stool, 
rises,  at  a  sudden  angle,  the  stiff  corselet, 
192 


The  Empusa 

disproportionately  long  and  almost  perpen- 
dicular. The  end  of  this  bust,  round  and 
slender  as  a  straw,  carries  the  hunting-trap, 
the  grappling  limbs,  copied  from  those  of  the 
Mantis.  They  consist  of  a  terminal  har- 
poon, sharper  than  a  needle,  and  a  cruel 
vice,  with  jaws  toothed  like  a  saw.  The 
jaw  formed  by  the  arm  proper  is  hollowed 
into  a  groove  and  carries  on  either  side  five 
long  spikes,  with  smaller  indentations  in  be- 
tween. The  jaw  formed  by  the  fore-arm  is 
similarly  furrowed,  but  its  double  saw,  which 
fits  into  the  groove  of  the  upper  arm  when 
at  rest,  is  formed  of  finer,  closer  and  more 
regular  teeth.  The  magnifying-glass  reveals 
a  score  of  equal  points  in  each  row.  The 
machine  only  lacks  size  to  be  a  fearful  im- 
plement of  torture. 

The  head  is  in  keeping  with  this  arsenal. 
What  a  queer-shaped  head  it  is !  A  pointed 
face,  with  walrus  moustaches  furnished  by 
the  palpi;  large  goggle  eyes;  between  them, 
a  dirk,  a  halberd  blade;  and,  on  the  fore- 
head, a  mad,  unheard-of  thing:  a  sort  of  tall 
mitre,  an  extravagant  head-dress  that  juts 
forward,  spreading  right  and  left  into  peaked 
wings  and  cleft  along  the  top.  What  does 
the  Devilkin  want  with  that  monstrous 
193 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

pointed  cap,  than  which  no  wise  man  of  the 
East,  no  astrologer  of  old  ever  wore  a  more 
splendiferous?  This  we  shall  learn  when  we 
see  her  out  hunting. 

The  dress  is  commonplace ;  grey  tints  pre- 
dominate. Towards  the  end  of  the  larval 
period,  after  a  few  moultings,  it  begins  to 
give  a  glimpse  of  the  adult's  richer  livery 
and  becomes  striped,  still  very  faintly,  with 
pale-green,  white  and  pink.  Already  the 
two  sexes  are  distinguished  by  their  anten- 
nae. Those  of  the  future  mothers  are  thread- 
like ;  those  of  the  future  males  are  distended 
into  a  spindle  at  the  lower  half,  forming  a 
case  or  sheath  whence  graceful  plumes  will 
spring  at  a  later  date. 

Behold  the  creature,  worthy  of  a  Callot's  * 
fantastic  pencil.  If  you  come  across  it  in 
the  bramble-bushes,  it  sways  upon  its  four 
stilts,  it  wags  its  head,  it  looks  at  you  with 
a  knowing  air,  it  twists  its  mitre  round  and' 
peers  over  its  shoulder.  You  seem  to  read 
mischief  in  its  pointed  face.  You  try  to  take 
hold  of  it.  The  imposing  attitude  ceases 
forthwith,  the  raised  corselet  is  lowered  and 


1  Jacques  Callot  (1592-1635),  the  French  engraver  and 
painter,  famed  for  the  grotesque  nature  of  his  subjects. — 
Translator's  Note. 

194 


The  Empusa 

the  creature  makes  off  with  mighty  strides, 
helping  itself  along  with  its  fighting-limbs, 
which  clutch  the  twigs.  The  flight  need  not 
last  long,  if  you  have  a  practised  eye.  The 
Empusa  is  captured,  put  into  a  screw  of 
paper,  which  will  save  her  frail  limbs  from 
sprains,  and  lastly  penned  in  a  wire-gauze 
cage.  In  this  way,  in  October,  I  obtain  a 
flock  sufficient  for  my  purpose. 

How  to  feed  them?  My  Devilkins  are 
very  little;  they  are  a  month  or  two  old  at 
most.  I  give  them  Locusts  suited  to  their 
size,  the  smallest  that  I  can  find.  They 
refuse  them.  Nay  more,  they  are  frightened 
of  them.  Should  a  thoughtless  Locust 
meekly  approach  one  of  the  Empusse,  sus- 
pended by  her  four  hind-legs  to  the  trellised 
dome,  the  intruder  meets  with  a  bad  recep- 
tion. The  pointed  mitre  is  lowered;  and  an 
angry  thrust  sends  him  rolling.  We  have  it : 
the  wizard's  cap  is  a  defensive  weapon,  a 
protective  crest.  The  Ram  charges  with  his 
forehead,  the  Empusa  butts  with  her  mitre. 

But  this  does  not  mean  dinner.  I  serve 
up  the  House-fly,  alive.  She  is  accepted, 
without  hesitation.  The  moment  that  the 
Fly  comes  within  reach,  the  watchful  Devil- 
kin  turns  her  head,  bends  the  stalk  of  her 
195 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

corselet  slantwise  and,  flinging  out  her  fore- 
limb,  harpoons  the  Fly  and  grips  her  be- 
tween her  two  saws.  No  Cat  pouncing  upon 
a  Mouse  could  be  quicker. 

The  game,  however  small,  is  enough  for  a 
meal.  It  is  enough  for  the  whole  day,  often 
for  several  days.  This  is  my  first  surprise : 
the  extreme  abstemiousness  of  these  savagely- 
armed  insects.  I  was  prepared  for  ogres: 
I  find  ascetics  satisfied  with  a  meagre  colla- 
tion at  rare  intervals.  A  Fly  fills  their  belly 
for  twenty-four  hours  at  least. 

Thus  passes  the  late  autumn:  the  Em- 
pusae,  more  and  more  temperate  from  day 
to  day,  hang  motionless  from  the  wire  gauze. 
Their  natural  abstinence  is  my  best  ally, 
for  Flies  grow  scarce;  and  a  time  comes 
when  I  should  be  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  the 
menageries  supplied  with  provisions. 

During  the  three  winter  months,  nothing 
stirs.  From  time  to  time,  on  fine  days,  I 
expose  the  cage  to  the  sun's  rays,  in  the 
window.  Under  the  influence  of  this  heat- 
bath,  the  captives  stretch  their  legs  a  little, 
sway  from  side  to  side,  make  up  their  minds 
to  move  about,  but  without  displaying  any 
awakening  appetite.  The  rare  Midges  that 
fall  to  my  assiduous  efforts  do  not  appear  to 
196 


The  Empusa 

tempt  them.  It  is  a  rule  for  them  to  spend 
the  cold  season  in  a  state  of  complete 
abstinence. 

My  cages  tell  me  what  must  happen  out- 
side, during  the  winter.  Ensconced  in  the 
crannies  of  the  rockwork,  in  the  sunniest 
places,  the  young  Empusae  wait,  in  a  state  of 
torpor,  for  the  return  of  the  hot  weather. 
Notwithstanding  the  shelter  of  a  heap  of 
stones,  there  must  be  painful  moments  when 
the  frost  is  prolonged  and  the  snow  pene- 
trates little  by  little  into  the  best-protected 
crevices.  No  matter :  hardier  than  they 
look,  the  refugees  escape  the  dangers  of  the 
winter  season.  Sometimes,  when  the  sun  is 
strong,  they  venture  out  of  their  hiding- 
place  and  come  to  see  if  spring  be  nigh. 

Spring  comes.  We  are  in  March.  My 
prisoners  bestir  themselves,  change  their 
skin.  They  need  victuals.  My  catering  diffi- 
culties recommence.  The  House-fly,  so  easy 
to  catch,  is  lacking  in  these  days.  I  fall  back 
upon  earlier  Diptera:  Eristales,  or  Drone- 
flies.  The  Empusa  refuses  them.  They 
are  too  big  for  her  and  can  offer  too 
strenuous  a  resistance.  She  wards  off  their 
approach  with  blows  of  her  mitre. 

A  few  tender  morsels,  in  the  shape  of  very 
197 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

young  Grasshoppers,  are  readily  accepted. 
Unfortunately,  such  wind-falls  do  not  often 
find  their  way  into  my  sweeping-net.  Absti- 
nence becomes  obligatory  until  the  arrival 
of  the  first  Butterflies.  Henceforth,  Pieris 
brassier,  the  White  Cabbage  Butterfly,  will 
contribute  the  greater  portion  of  the  victuals. 

Let  loose  in  the  wire  cage,  the  Pieris 
is  regarded  as  excellent  game.  The  Empusa 
lies  in  wait  for  her,  seizes  her,  but  releases 
her  at  once,  lacking  the  strength  to  over- 
power her.  The  Cabbage  Butterfly's  great 
wings,  beating  the  air,  give  her  shock  after 
shock  and  compel  her  to  let  go.  I  come  to 
the  weakling's  assistance  and  cut  the  wings  of 
her  prey  with  my  scissors.  The  maimed 
ones,  still  full  of  life,  clamber  up  the  trellis- 
work  and  are  forthwith  grabbed  by  the  Em- 
pusse,  who,  in  no  way  frightened  by  their 
protests,  crunch  them  up.  The  dish  is  to 
their  taste  and,  moreover,  plentiful,  so  much 
so  that  there  are  always  some  despised 
remnants. 

The  head  only  and  the  upper  portion  of 
the  breast  are  devoured :  the  rest — the  plump 
abdomen,  the  best  part  of  the  thorax,  the 
legs  and  lastly,  of  course,  the  wing-stumps — 
is  flung  aside  untouched.  Does  this  mean  that 
198 


The  Empusa 

the  tenderest  and  most  succulent  morsels  are 
chosen  ?  No,  for  the  belly  is  certainly  more 
juicy;  and  the  Empusa  refuses  it,  though  she 
eats  up  her  House-fly  to  the  last  particle. 
It  is  a  strategy  of  war.  I  am  again  in  the 
presence  of  a  neck-specialist  as  expert  as  the 
Mantis  herself  in  the  art  of  swiftly  slaying 
a  victim  that  struggles  and,  in  struggling, 
spoils  the  meal. 

Once  warned,  I  soon  perceive  that  the 
game,  be  it  Fly,  Locust,  Grasshopper  or 
Butterfly,  is  invariably  struck  in  the  neck, 
from  behind.  The  first  bite  is  aimed  at  the 
point  containing  the  cervical  ganglia  and 
produces  sudden  death  or  immobility.  Com- 
plete inertia  will  leave  the  consumer  in 
peace,  the  essential  condition  of  every  satis- 
factory repast. 

The  Devilkin,  therefore,  frail  though  she 
be,  possesses  the  secret  of  immediately  de- 
stroying the  resistance  of  her  prey.  She 
bites  at  the  back  of  the  neck  first,  in  order 
to  give  the  finishing  stroke.  She  goes  on 
nibbling  around  the  original  attacking-point. 
In  this  way,  the  Butterfly's  head  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  breast  are  disposed  of. 
But,  by  that  time,  the  huntress  is  surfeited : 
she  wants  so  little!  The  rest  lies  on  the 
199 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

ground,  disdained,  not  for  lack  of  flavour, 
but  because  there  is  too  much  of  it.  A  Cab- 
bage Butterfly  far  exceeds  the  capacity  of 
the  Empusa's  stomach.  The  Ants  will  bene- 
fit by  what  is  left. 

There  is  one  other  matter  to  be  mentioned, 
before  observing  the  metamorphosis.  The 
position  adopted  by  the  young  Empusae  in 
the  wire-gauze  cage  is  invariably  the  same 
from  start  to  finish.  Gripping  the  trellis- 
work  by  the  claws  of  its  four  hind-legs,  the 
insect  occupies  the  top  of  the  dome  and  hangs 
motionless,  back  downwards,  with  the  whole 
of  its  body  supported  by  the  four  suspension- 
points.  If  it  wishes  to  move,  the  front  har- 
poons open,  stretch  out,  grasp  a  mesh  and 
draw  it  to  them.  When  the  short  walk  is 
over,  the  lethal  arms  are  brought  back 
against  the  chest.  One  may  say  that  it  is 
nearly  always  the  four  hind-shanks  which 
alone  support  the  suspended  insect. 

And  this  reversed  position,  which  seems 
to  us  so  trying,  lasts  for  no  short  while:  it 
is  prolonged,  in  my  cages,  for  ten  months 
without  a  break.  The  Fly  on  the  ceiling,  it 
is  true,  occupies  the  same  attitude;  but  she 
has  her  moments  of  rest:  she  flies,  she  walks 
in  a  normal  posture,  she  spreads  herself  flat 


The  Empusa 

in  the  sun.  Besides,  her  acrobatic  feats  do 
not  cover  a  long  period.  The  Empusa, 
on  the  other  hand,  maintains  her  curious 
equilibrium  for  ten  months  on  end,  without 
a  break.  Hanging  from  the  trelliswork, 
back  downwards,  she  hunts,  eats,  digests, 
dozes,  casts  her  skin,  undergoes  her  trans- 
formation, mates,  lays  her  eggs  and  dies. 
She  clambered  up  there  when  she  was  still 
quite  young;  she  falls  down,  full  of  days,  a 
corpse. 

Things  do  not  happen  exactly  like  this 
under  natural  conditions.  The  insect  stands 
on  the  bushes  back  upwards;  it  keeps  its 
balance  in  the  regular  attitude  and  turns  over 
only  in  circumstances  that  occur  at  long  in- 
tervals. The  protracted  suspension  of  my 
captives  is  all  the  more  remarkable  inasmuch 
as  it  is  not  at  all  an  innate  habit  of  their 
race. 

It  reminds  one  of  the  Bats,  who  hang, 
head  downwards,  by  their  hind-legs  from  the 
roof  of  their  caves.  A  special  formation  of 
the  toes  enables  birds  to  sleep  on  one  leg, 
which  automatically  and  without  fatigue 
clutches  the  swaying  bough.  The  Empusa 
shows  me  nothing  akin  to  their  contrivance. 
The  extremity  of  her  walking-legs  has  the 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

ordinary  structure :  a  double  claw  at  the  tip, 
a  double  steelyard-hook;  and  that  is  all. 

I  could  wish  that  anatomy  would  show  me 
the  working  of  the  muscles  and  nerves  in 
those  tarsi,  in  those  legs  more  slender  than 
threads,  the  action  of  the  tendons  that  con- 
trol the  claws  and  keep  them  gripped  for 
ten  months,  unwearied  in  waking  and  sleep- 
ing. If  some  dexterous  scalpel  should  ever 
investigate  this  problem,  I  can  recommend 
another,  even  more  singular  than  that  of  the 
Empusa,  the  Bat  and  the  bird.  I  refer  to 
the  attitude  of  certain  Wasps  and  Bees 
during  the  night's  rest. 

An  Ammophila  with  red  fore-legs  (A. 
holosericea)1  is  plentiful  in  my  enclosure  to- 
wards the  end  of  August  and  selects  a  certain 
lavender-border  for  her  dormitory.  At 
dusk,  especially  after  a  stifling  day,  when  a 
storm  is  brewing,  I  am  sure  to  find  the 
strange  sleeper  settled  there.  Never  was 
more  eccentric  attitude  adopted  for  a  night's 
rest!  The  mandibles  bite  right  into  the 
lavender-stem.  Its  square  shape  supplies  a 
firmer  hold  than  a  round  stalk  would  do. 
With  this  one  and  only  prop,  the  animal's 

1  Cf.    The   Hunting    Wasps:    chap.    xiii. — Translator's 
Nott. 


The  Empusa 

body  juts  out  stiffly,  at  full  length,  with  legs 
folded.  It  forms  a  right  angle  with  the 
supporting  axis,  so  much  so  that  the  whole 
weight  of  the  insect,  which  has  turned  itself 
into  the  arm  of  a  lever,  rests  upon  the 
mandibles. 

The  Ammophila  sleeps  extended  in  space 
by  virtue  of  its  mighty  jaws.  It  takes  an 
animal  to  think  of  a  thing  like  that,  which 
upsets  all  our  preconceived  ideas  of  repose. 
Should  the  threatening  storm  burst,  should 
the  stalk  sway  in  the  wind,  the  sleeper  is  not 
troubled  by  her  swinging  hammock;  at  most, 
she  presses  her  fore-legs  for  a  moment  against 
the  tossed  mast.  As  soon  as  equilibrium  is 
restored,  the  favourite  posture,  that  of  the 
horizontal  lever,  is  resumed.  Perhaps  the 
mandibles,  like  the  bird's  toes,  possess  the 
faculty  of  gripping  tighter  in  proportion  to 
the  rocking  of  the  wind. 

The  Ammophila  is  not  the  only  one  to 
sleep  in  this  singular  position,  which  is 
copied  by  many  others — Anthidia,1  Odyneri,2 
Eucerse  8 — and  mainly  by  the  males.  All 

1  Cotton-bees.  Cf.  Bramble-bees  and  Others:  chap.  is. 
— Translator's  Note. 

1  A  genus  of  Mason-wasps,  the  essay  on  whom  has  not 
yet  been  translated  into  English. — Translator's  Note. 

*  A  species  of  Burrowing  Bees. — Translator's  Note. 
203 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

grip  a  stalk  with  their  mandibles  and  sleep 
with  their  bodies  outstretched  and  their  legs 
folded  back.  Some,  the  stouter  species, 
allow  themselves  to  rest  the  tip  of  their 
arched  abdomen  against  the  pole. 

This  visit  to  the  dormitory  of  certain 
Wasps  and  Bees  does  not  explain  the  problem 
of  the  Empusa;  it  sets  up  another  one,  no 
less  difficult.  It  shows  us  how  deficient  we 
are  in  insight,  when  it  comes  to  differentiating 
between  fatigue  and  rest  in  the  cogs  of  the 
animal  machine.  The  Ammophila,  with  the 
static  paradox  afforded  by  her  mandibles; 
the  Empusa,  with  her  claws  unwearied  by 
ten  months'  hanging,  leave  the  physiologist 
perplexed  and  make  him  wonder  what  really 
constitutes  rest.  In  absolute  fact,  there  is 
no  rest,  apart  from  that  which  puts  an  end 
to  life.  The  struggle  never  ceases;  some 
muscle  is  always  toiling,  some  nerve  strain- 
ing. Sleep,  which  resembles  a  return  to  the 
peace  of  non-existence,  is,  like  waking,  an 
effort,  here  of  the  leg,  of  the  curled  tail; 
there  of  the  claw,  of  the  jaws. 

The  transformation  is  effected  about  the 
middle  of  May  and  the  adult  Empusa  makes 
her  appearance.  She  is  even  more  remark- 
able in  figure  and  attire  than  the  Praying 
204 


The  Empusa 

Mantis.  Of  her  youthful  eccentricities,  she 
retains  the  pointed  mitre,  the  saw-like  arm- 
guards,  the  long  bust,  the  knee-pieces,  the 
three  rows  of  scales  on  the  lower  surface  of 
the  belly ;  but  the  abdomen  is  now  no  longer 
twisted  into  a  crook  and  the  animal  is 
comelier  to  look  upon.  Large  pale-green 
wings,  pink  at  the  shoulder  and  swift  in 
flight  in  both  sexes,  cover  the  belly,  which  is 
striped  white  and  green  underneath.  The 
male,  the  dandy  sex,  adorns  himself  with 
plumed  antennae,  like  those  of  certain  Moths, 
the  Bombyx  tribe.  In  respect  of  size,  he  is 
almost  the  equal  of  his  mate. 

Save  for  a  few  slight  structural  details, 
the  Empusa  is  the  Praying  Mantis.  The 
peasant  confuses  them.  When,  in  spring,  he 
meets  the  mitred  insect,  he  thinks  he  sees  the 
common  Prego-Dieu,  who  is  a  daughter  of 
the  autumn.  .  Similar  forms  would  seem  to 
indicate  similarity  of  habits.  In  fact,  led 
away  by  the  extraordinary  armour,  we 
should  be  tempted  to  attribute  to  the  Em- 
pusa a  mode  of  life  even  more  atrocious 
than  that  of  the  Mantis.  I  myself  thought 
so  at  first;  and  any  one,  relying  upon  false 
analogies,  would  think  the  same.  It  is  a 
fresh  error:  for  all  her  warlike  aspect,  the 
205 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Empusa  is  a  peaceful  creature  that  hardly 
repays  the  trouble  of  rearing. 

Installed  under  the  gauze  bell,  whether  in 
assemblies  of  half-a-dozen  or  in  separate 
couples,  she  at  no  time  loses  her  placidity. 
Like  the  larva,  she  is  very  abstemious  and 
contents  herself  with  a  Fly  or  two  as  her 
daily  ration. 

Big  eaters  are  naturally  quarrelsome. 
The  Mantis,  bloated  with  Locusts,  soon 
becomes  irritated  and  shows  fight.  The 
Empusa,  with  her  frugal  meals,  does  not  in- 
dulge in  hostile  demonstrations.  There  is 
no  strife  among  neighbours  nor  any  of  those 
sudden  unfurlings  of  the  wings  so  dear  to 
the  Mantis  when  she  assumes  the  spectral 
attitude  and  puffs  like  a  startled  Adder; 
never  the  least  inclination  for  those  cannibal 
banquets  whereat  the  sister  who  has  been 
worsted  in  the  fight  is  devoured.  Such 
atrocities  are  here  unknown. 

Unknown  also  are  tragic  nuptials.  The 
male  is  enterprising  and  assiduous  and  is  sub- 
jected to  a  long  trial  before  succeeding.  For 
days  and  days,  he  worries  his  mate,  who  ends 
by  yielding.  Due  decorum  is  preserved  after 
the  wedding.  The  feathered  groom  retires, 
respected  by  his  bride,  and  does  his  little  bit 
206 


The  Empusa 

of  hunting,  without  danger  of  being  appre- 
hended and  gobbled  up. 

The  two  sexes  live  together  in  peace  and 
mutual  indifference  until  the  middle  of  July. 
Then  the  male,  grown  old  and  decrepit,  takes 
counsel  with  himself,  hunts  no  more,  becomes 
shaky  in  his  walk,  creeps  down  from  the 
lofty  heights  of  the  trellised  dome  and  at 
last  collapses  on  the  ground.  His  end  comes 
by  a  natural  death.  And  remember  that  the 
other,  the  male  of  the  Praying  Mantis,  ends 
in  the  stomach  of  his  gluttonous  spouse. 

The  laying  follows  close  upon  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  males.  The  Empusa,  when 
about  to  build  her  nest,  has  not  the  round 
belly  of  the  Praying  Mantis,  rendered  heavy 
and  inactive  by  her  fertility.  Her  slender 
figure,  still  capable  of  flight,  announces  a 
scanty  progeny.  Her  nest,  fixed  upon  a 
straw,  a  twig,  a  chip  of  stone,  is  quite  as 
small  a  structure  as  that  of  the  dwarf  Mantis 
(Ameles  decolor}  and  measures  two-fifths  of 
an  inch,  at  most,  in  length.  The  general 
shape  is  that  of  a  trapezoid,  of  which  the 
shorter  sides  are,  respectively,  sloping  and 
slightly  convex.  As  a  rule,  the  sloping  side 
is  surmounted  by  a  thread-like  appendage, 
similar  to  the  final  spur  of  the  nests  of  the 
207 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Mantis  and  the  Ameles,  but  finer  in  appear- 
ance. This  is  the  last  drop  of  viscous  matter, 
dried  and  drawn  out.  Builders,  when  their- 
work  is  finished,  crown  the  edifice  with  a 
green  bough  and  coloured  streamers.  In 
much  the  same  way,  the  Mantis  tribe  set  up 
a  mast  on  the  completed  nest. 

A  very  thin  grey-wash,  formed  of  dried 
foam,  covers  the  Empusa's  work,  especially 
on  the  upper  surface.  Under  this  delicate 
glaze,  which  is  easily  rubbed  off,  the  funda- 
mental substance  appears,  homogeneous, 
horny,  pale-red.  Six  or  seven  hardly-per- 
ceptible furrows  divide  the  sides  into  curved 
sections. 

After  the  hatching,  a  dozen  round  orifices 
open  on  the  top  of  the  building,  in  two 
alternate  rows.  These  are  the  exit-doors  for 
the  young  larvae.  The  slightly  projecting 
rim  is  continued  from  each  aperture  to  the 
next  in  a  sort  of  ribbon  with  a  double  row 
of  alternating  loops.  It  is  obvious  that  the 
windings  of  this  ribbon  are  the  result  of  an 
oscillating  movement  of  the  ovipositor  in 
labour.  Those  exit-holes,  so  regular  in 
shape  and  arrangement,  completed  by  the 
lateral  ribs  of  the  nest,  present  the  appear- 
ance of  two  dainty  mouth-organs  placed  in 
208 


The  Empusa 

juxtaposition.  Each  of  them  corresponds 
with  a  cell  containing  two  eggs.  The  eggs 
in  all,  therefore,  amount  to  about  a  couple 
of  dozen. 

I  have  not  seen  the  hatching.  I  do  not 
know  whether,  as  in  the  Praying  Mantis,  it 
is  preceded  by  a  transition-stage  adapted  to 
facilitate  the  delivery.  It  may  easily  be  that 
there  is  nothing  of  the  kind,  since  everything 
is  so  well-prepared  for  the  exit.  Above  the 
cells  is  a  very  short  exit-hall,  free  of  any 
obstacle.  It  is  closed  merely  by  a  small 
quantity  of  frothy,  crumbly  matter,  which 
will  readily  yield  to  the  mandibles  of  the 
new-born  larva?.  With  this  wide  passage 
leading  to  the  outer  air,  long  legs  and  slender 
antennae  cease  to  be  embarrassing  append- 
ages; and  the  tiny  creature  might  well  have 
the  free  use  of  them  from  the  moment  of 
leaving  the  egg,  without  going  through  the 
primary  larval  stage.  Not  having  seen  for 
myself,  I  merely  mention  the  probable  course 
of  things. 

One  word  more  on  comparative  manners. 
The  Mantis  goes  in  for  battle  and  cannibal- 
ism; the  Empusa  is  peaceable  and  respects 
her  kind.  To  what  cause  are  these  profound 
moral  differences  due,  when  the  organic 
209 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

structure  is  the  same  ?  Perhaps  to  the  differ- 
ence of  diet.  Frugality,  in  fact,  softens  char- 
acter, in  animals  as  in  men;  gross  feeding 
brutalizes  it.  The  gormandizer  gorged  with 
meat  and  strong  drink,  a  fruitful  source  of 
savage  outbursts,  could  not  possess  the  gen- 
tleness of  the  ascetic  who  dips  his  bread  into 
a  cup  of  milk.  The  Mantis  is  that  gorman- 
dizer, the  Empusa  that  ascetic. 

Granted.  But  whence  does  the  one  derive 
her  voracious  appetite,  the  other  her  tem- 
perate ways,  when  it  would  seem  as  though 
their  almost  identical  structure  ought  to  pro- 
duce an  identity  of  needs?  These  insects  tell 
us,  in  their  fashion,  what  many  have  already 
told  us :  that  propensities  and  aptitudes  do 
not  depend  exclusively  upon  anatomy;  high 
above  the  physical  laws  that  govern  matter 
rise  other  laws  that  govern  instincts. 


210 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   WHITE-FACED   DECTICUS :   HIS    HABITS 

THE  White-faced  Decticus  (D.  albifrons, 
FABR.)  stands  at  the  head  of  the  Grass- 
hopper clan  in  my  district,  both  as  a  singer 
and  as  an  insect  of  imposing  presence.  He 
has  a  grey  costume,  a  pair  of  powerful 
mandibles  and  a  broad  ivory  face.  Without 
being  plentiful,  he  does  not  let  himself  be 
sought  in  vain.  In  the  height  of  summer  we 
find  him  hopping  in  the  long  grass,  especially 
at  the  foot  of  the  sunny  rocks  where  the 
turpentine-tree  takes  root. 

At  the  end  of  July  I  start  a  Decticus- 
menagerie.  As  a  vivarium  I  adopt  a  big 
wire-gauze  cover  standing  on  a  bed  of  sifted 
earth.  The  population  numbers  a  dozen; 
and  both  sexes  are  equally  represented. 

The  question  of  victuals  perplexes  me  for 
some  time.  It  seems  as  though  the  regula- 
tion diet  ought  to  be  a  vegetable  one,  to 
judge  by  the  Locust,  who  consumes  any 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

green  thing.  I  therefore  offer  my  captives 
the  tastiest  and  tenderest  garden-stuff  that  my 
enclosure  holds:  leaves  of  lettuce,  chicory 
and  corn-salad.  The  Dectici  scarcely  touch 
it  with  a  contemptuous  tooth.  It  is  not  the 
food  for  them. 

Perhaps  something  tough  would  suit  their 
strong  mandibles  better.  I  try  various 
Graminaceae,  including  the  glaucous  panic- 
grass,  the  mlauco  of  the  Provencal  peasant, 
the  Setaria  glauca  of  the  botanists,  a  weed 
that  infests  the  fields  after  the  harvest.  The 
panic-grass  is  accepted  by  the  hungry  ones, 
but  it  is  not  the  leaves  that  they  devour :  they 
attack  only  the  ears,  of  which  they  crunch 
the  still  tender  seeds  with  visible  satisfaction. 
The  food  is  found,  at  least  for  the  time 
being.  We  shall  see  later. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  rays  of  the  sun 
visit  the  cage  placed  in  the  window  of  my 
study,  I  serve  out  the  day's  ration,  a  sheaf 
of  green  spikes  of  common  grass  picked 
outside  my  door.  The  Dectici  come  running 
up  to  the  handful,  gather  round  it  and,  very 
peaceably,  without  quarrelling  among  them- 
selves, dig  with  their  mandibles  between  the 
bristles  of  the  spikes  to  extract  and  nibble 
the  unripe  seeds.  Their  costume  makes  one 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

think  of  a  flock  of  Guinea-fowl  pecking  the 
grain  scattered  by  the  farmer's  wife.  When 
the  spikes  are  robbed  of  their  tender  seeds, 
the  rest  is  scorned,  however  urgent  the  claims 
of  hunger  may  be. 

To  break  the  monotony  of  the  diet  as  much 
as  is  possible  in  these  dog-days,  when  every- 
thing is  burnt  up,  I  gather  a  thick-leaved, 
fleshy  plant  which  is  not  too  sensitive  to  the 
summer  heat.  This  is  the  common  purslane, 
another  invader  of  our  garden-beds.  The 
new  green  stuff  meets  with  a  good  reception ; 
and  once  again  the  Dectici  dig  their  teeth  not 
into  the  leaves  and  the  juicy  stalks,  but  only 
into  the  swollen  capsules  of  half-formed 
grains. 

This  taste  for  tender  seeds  surprises  me : 
drfHTixo?,  biting,  fond  of  biting,  the  lexicon 
tells  us.  A  name  that  expresses  nothing,  a 
mere  identification-number,  is  able  to  satisfy 
the  nomenclator;  in  my  opinion,  if  the  name 
possesses  a  characteristic  meaning  and  at  the 
same  time  sounds  well,  it  is  all  the  better  for 
it.  Such  is  the  case  here.  The  Decticus  is 
eminently  an  insect  given  to  biting.  Mind 
your  finger  if  the  sturdy  Grasshopper  gets 
hold  of  it:  he  will  rip  it  till  the  blood  comes. 

And  can  this  powerful  jaw,  of  which  I 
213 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

have  to  beware  when  I  handle  the  creature, 
possess  no  other  function  than  to  chew  soft 
grains?  Can  a  mill  like  this  have  only  to 
grind  little  unripe  seeds?  Something  has 
escaped  me.  So  well-armed  with  mandibular 
pincers,  so  well-endowed  with  masticatory 
muscles  that  swell  out  his  cheeks,  the  Dec- 
ticus  must  cut  up  some  leathery  prey. 

This  time  I  find  the  real  diet,  the  funda- 
mental if  not  the  exclusive  one.  Some  good- 
sized  Locusts  are  let  into  the  cage.  I  put  in 
it  the  species  mentioned  in  a  note  below,1 
now  one,  now  the  other,  as  they  happen  to 
get  caught  in  my  net.  A  few  Grasshoppers  2 
are  also  accepted,  but  not  so  readily.  There 
is  every  reason  to  think  that,  if  I  had  had 
the  luck  to  capture  them,  the  entire  Locust 
and  Grasshopper  family  would  have  met  the 
same  fate,  provided  that  they  were  not  too 
insignificant  in  size. 

Any  fresh  meat  tasting  of  Locust  or 
Grasshopper  suits  my  ogres.  The  most  fre- 
quent victim  is  the  Blue-winged  Locust. 

1  (Edipoda  carulescens,  LIN.;  CE.  miniata,  PALLAS; 
Sphingonotus  ccerulans,  LIN.;  Caloptenus  italicus,  LIN.; 
Pachytylus  nigrofasciatus,  DE  GEER;  Truxalis  nasuta, 
LIN. — Author's  Note. 

*  Conocepkalus  mandibularis,  CHARP.  ;  Platycleis  inter- 
media, SERV.;  Ephippigea  vitium,  SERV. — Author's  Note. 
214 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

There  is  a  deplorably  large  consumption  of 
this  species  in  the  cage.  This  is  how  things 
happen :  as  soon  as  the  game  is  introduced, 
an  uproar  ensues  in  the  mess-room,  especially 
if  the  Dectici  have  been  fasting  for  some 
time.  They  stamp  about  and,  hampered  by 
their  long  shanks,  dart  forward  clumsily;  the 
Locusts  make  desperate  bounds,  rush  to  the 
top  of  the  cage  and  there  hang  on,  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  Grasshopper,  who  is  too 
stout  to  climb  so  high.  Some  are  seized  at 
once,  as  soon  as  they  enter.  The  others,  who 
have  taken  refuge  up  in  the  dome,  are  only 
postponing  for  a  little  while  the  fate  that 
awaits  them.  Their  turn  will  come ;  and  that 
soon.  Either  because  they  are  tired  or  be- 
cause they  are  tempted  by  the  green  stuff 
below,  they  will  come  down ;  and  the  Dectici 
will  be  after  them  immediately. 

Speared  by  the  hunter's  fore-legs,  the 
game  is  first  wounded  in  the  neck.  It  is  al- 
ways there,  behind  the  head,  that  the  Lo- 
cust's shell  cracks  first  of  all;  it  is  always 
there  that  the  Decticus  probes  persistently 
before  releasing  his  hold  and  taking  his  sub- 
sequent meals  off  whatever  joint  he  chooses. 

It  is  a  very  judicious  bite.  The  Locust  is 
hard  to  kill.  Even  when  beheaded,  he  goes 
215 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

on  hopping.  I  have  seen  some  who,  though 
half-eaten,  kick  out  desperately  and  suc- 
ceed, with  a  supreme  effort,  in  releasing 
themselves  and  jumping  away.  In  the  brush- 
wood, that  would  be  so  much  game  lost. 

The  Decticus  seems  to  know  all  about  it. 
To  overcome  his  prey,  so  prompt  to  escape 
by  means  of  its  two  powerful  levers,  and  to 
render  it  helpless  as  quickly  as  possible,  he 
first  munches  and  extirpates  the  cervical 
ganglia,  the  main  seat  of  innervation.  Is 
this  an  accident,  in  which  the  assassin's  choice 
plays  no  part?  No,  for  I  see  the  murder 
performed  invariably  in  the  same  way  when 
the  prey  is  in  possession  of  its  full  strength; 
and  again  no,  because,  when  the  Locust  is 
offered  in  the  form  of  a  fresh  corpse,  or 
when  he  is  weak,  dying,  incapable  of  de- 
fence, the  attack  is  made  anywhere,  at  the 
first  spot  that  presents  itself  to  the  assailant's 
jaws.  In  such  cases  the  Decticus  begins 
either  with  a  haunch,  the  favourite  morsel, 
or  with  the  belly,  back  or  chest.  The  pre- 
liminary bite  in  the  neck  is  reserved  for 
difficult  occasions. 

This  Grasshopper,  therefore,  despite  his 
dull  intellect,  possesses  the  art  of  killing 
scientifically  of  which  we  have  seen  so  many 
216 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

instances  elsewhere ; *  but  with  him  it  is  a 
rude  art,  falling  within  the  knacker's  rather 
than  the  anatomist's  domain. 

Two  or  three  Blue-winged  Locusts  are 
none  too  many  for  a  Decticus'  daily  ration. 
It  all  goes  down,  save  the  wings  and  wing- 
cases,  which  are  disdained  as  too  tough.  In 
addition,  there  is  a  snack  of  tender  millet- 
grains  stolen  every  now  and  again  to  make 
a  change  from  the  banquet  of  game.  They 
are  big  eaters,  are  my  boarders;  they  sur- 
prise me  with  their  gormandizing  and  even 
more  with  their  easy  change  from  an  animal 
to  a  vegetable  diet. 

With  their  accommodating  and  anything 
but  particular  stomachs,  they  could  render 
some  slight  service  to  agriculture,  if  there 
were  more  of  them.  They  destroy  the  Lo- 
custs, many  of  whom,  even  in  our  fields,  are 
of  ill  fame ;  and  they  nibble,  amid  the  unripe 
corn,  the  seeds  of  a  number  of  plants  which 
are  obnoxious  to  the  husbandman. 

But  the  Decticus'  claim  to  the  honours  of 
the  vivarium  rests  upon  something  much 
better  than  his  feeble  assistance  in  preserving 
the  fruits  of  the  earth :  in  his  song,  his  nup- 

1  Cf.  The  Life  of  the  Spider  and  The  Hunting  Wasps: 
passim. — Translator's  Note. 

217 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

tials  and  his  habits  we  have  a  memorial  of 
the  remotest  times. 

How  did  the  insect's  ancestors  live,  in  the 
palaeozoic  age?  They  had  their  crude  and 
uncouth  side,  banished  from  the  better- 
proportioned  fauna  of  to-day;  we  catch  a 
vague  glimpse  of  habits  now  almost  out  of 
use.  It  is  unfortunate  for  our  curiosity  that 
the  fossil  remains  are  silent  on  this  mag- 
nificent subject. 

Luckily  we  have  one  resource  left,  that  of 
consulting  the  successors  of  the  prehistoric 
insects.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the 
Locustids  *  of  our  own  period  have  retained 
an  echo  of  the  ancient  customs  and  can  tell 
us  something  of  the  manners  of  olden  time. 
Let  us  begin  by  questioning  the  Decticus. 

In  the  vivarium  the  sated  herd  are  lying 
on  their  bellies  in  the  sun  and  blissfully 
digesting  their  food,  giving  no  other  sign  of 
life  than  a  gentle  swaying  of  the  antenna?. 
It  is  the  hour  of  the  after-dinner  nap,  the 
hour  of  enervating  heat.  From  time  to  time 
a  male  gets  up,  strolls  solemnly  about,  raises 
his  wing-cases  slightly  and  utters  ah  occa- 


1  An  orthopterous  family  which  includes  the  Grass- 
hoppers, but  not  the  Locusts.  The  latter  are  Acridians. 
— Translator's  Note. 

218 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

sional  tick-tick.  Then  he  becomes  more 
animated,  hurries  the  pace  of  his  tune  and 
ends  by  grinding  out  the  finest  piece  in  his 
repertoire. 

Is  he  celebrating  his  wedding?  Is  his  song 
an  epithalamium?  I  will  make  no  such  state- 
ment, for  his  success  is  poor  if  he  is  really 
making  an  appeal  to  his  fair  neighbours. 
Not  one  of  his  group  of  hearers  gives  a  sign 
of  attention.  Not  a  female  stirs,  not  one 
moves  from  her  comfortable  place  in  the  sun. 
Sometimes  the  solo  becomes  a  concerted  piece 
sung  by  two  or  three  in  chorus.  The  multiple 
invitation  succeeds  no  better.  True,  their 
impassive  ivory  faces  give  no  indication  of 
their  real  feelings.  If  the  suitors'  ditty 
indeed  exercises  any  sort  of  seduction,  no 
outward  sign  betrays  the  fact. 

According  to  all  appearances,  the  clicking 
is  addressed  to  heedless  ears.  It  rises  in  a 
passionate  crescendo  until  it  becomes  a  con- 
tinuous rattle.  It  ceases  when  the  sun 
vanishes  behind  a  cloud  and  starts  afresh 
when  the  sun  shows  itself  again ;  but  it  leaves 
the  ladies  indifferent. 

She  who  was  lying  with  her  shanks  out- 
stretched on  the  blazing  sand  does  not 
change  her  position;  her  antennary  threads 
219 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

give  not  a  quiver  more  and  not  a  quiver  less ; 
she  who  was  gnawing  the  remains  of  a  Lo- 
cust does  not  let  go  the  morsel,  does  not  lose 
a  mouthful.  To  look  at  those  heartless  ones, 
you  would  really  say  that  the  singer  was 
making  a  noise  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
feeling  himself  alive. 

It  is  a  very  different  matter  when,  towards 
the  end  of  August,  I  witness  the  start  of  the 
wedding.  The  couple  finds  itself  standing 
face  to  face  quite  casually,  without  any 
lyrical  prelude  whatever.  Motionless,  as 
though  turned  to  stone,  with  their  foreheads 
almost  touching,  the  two  exchange  caresses 
with  their  long  antennas,  fine  as  hairs.  The 
male  seems  somewhat  preoccupied.  He 
washes  his  tarsi;  with  the  tips  of  his  mandi- 
bles he  tickles  the  soles  of  his  feet.  From 
time  to  time  he  gives  a  stroke  of  the  bow: 
tick;  no  more. 

Yet  one  would  think  that  this  was  the  very 
moment  at  which  to  make  the  most  of  his 
strong  points.  Why  not  declare  his  flame 
in  a  fond  couplet,  instead  of  standing  there, 
scratching  his  feet?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He 
remains  silent  in  front  of  the  coveted  bride, 
herself  impassive. 

The  interview,  a  mere  exchange  of  greet- 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

ings  between  friends  of  different  sexes,  does 
not  last  long.  What  do  they  say  to  each 
other,  forehead  to  forehead?  Not  much, 
apparently,  for  soon  they  separate  with 
nothing  further;  and  each  goes  his  way  where 
he  pleases. 

Next  day,  the  same  two  meet  again.  This 
time,  the  song,  though  still  very  brief,  is  in 
a  louder  key  than  on  the  day  before,  while 
being  still  very  far  from  the  burst  of  sound 
to  which  the  Decticus  will  give  utterance  long 
before  the  pairing.  For  the  rest,  it  is  a 
repetition  of  what  I  saw  yesterday:  mutual 
caresses  with  the  antennas,  which  limply  pat 
the  well-rounded  sides. 

The  male  does  not  seem  greatly  enrap- 
tured. He  again  nibbles  his  foot  and  seems 
to  be  reflecting.  Alluring  though  the  enter- 
prise may  be,  it  is  perhaps  not  unattended 
with  danger.  Can  there  be  a  nuptial  tragedy 
here,  similar  to  that  which  the  Praying 
Mantis  has  shown  us?  Can  the  business  be 
exceptionally  grave  ?  Have  patience  and  you 
shall  see.  For  the  moment,  nothing  more 
happens. 

A  few  days  later,  a  little  light  is  thrown 
upon  the  subject.  The  male  is  underneath, 
lying  flat  on  the  sand  and  towered  over  by 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

his  powerful  spouse,  who,  with  her  sabre 
exposed,  standing  high  on  her  hind-legs,  over- 
whelms him  with  her  embrace.  No,  indeed : 
in  this  posture  the  poor  Decticus  has  nothing 
of  the  victor  about  him!  The  other, 
brutally,  without  respecting  the  musical-box, 
is  forcing  open  his  wing-cases  and  nibbling 
his  flesh  just  where  the  belly  begins. 

Which  of  the  two  takes  the  initiative 
here?  Have  not  the  parts  been  reversed? 
She  who  is  usually  provoked  is  now  the  pro- 
voker,  employing  rude  caresses  capable  of 
carrying  off  the  morsel  touched.  She  has  not 
yielded  to  him;  she  has  thrust  herself  upon 
him,  disturbingly,  imperiously.  He,  lying  flat 
on  the  ground,  quivers  and  starts,  seems  try- 
ing to  resist.  What  outrageous  thing  is 
about  to  happen?  I  shall  not  know  to-day. 
The  floored  male  releases  himself  and  runs 
away. 

But  this  time,  at  last,  we  have  it.  Master 
Decticus  is  on  the  ground,  tumbled  over  on 
his  back.  Hoisted  to  the  full  height  of  her 
shanks,  the  other,  holding  her  sabre  almost 
perpendicular,  covers  her  prostrate  mate 
from  a  distance.  The  two  ventral  extremities 
curve  into  a  hook,  seek  each  other,  meet;  and 
soon  from  the  male's  convulsive  loins  there 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

is  seen  to  issue,  in  painful  labour,  something 
monstrous  and  unheard-of,  as  though  the 
creature  were  expelling  its  entrails  in  a  lump. 

It  is  an  opalescent  bag,  similar  in  size  and 
colour  to  a  mistletoe-berry,  a  bag  with  four 
pockets  marked  off  by  faint  grooves,  two 
larger  ones  above  and  two  smaller  ones 
below.  In  certain  cases  the  number  of  cells 
increases  and  the  whole  assumes  the  appear- 
ance of  a  packet  of  eggs  such  as  Helix 
aspersa,  the  Common  Snail,  lays  in  the 
ground. 

The  strange  concern  remains  hanging 
from  the  lower  end  of  the  sabre  of  the  future 
mother,  who  solemnly  retires  with  the  ex- 
traordinary wallet,  the  spermatophore,  as 
the  physiologists  call  it,  the  source  of  life  for 
the  ovules,  in  other  words  the  cruet  which 
will  now  in  due  course  transmit  to  the  proper 
place  the  necessary  complement  for  the  evo- 
lution of  the  germs. 

A  capsule  of  this  kind  is  a  rare,  an  in- 
finitely rare  thing  in  the  world  of  to-day.  So 
far  as  I  know,  the  Cephalopods  1  and  the 
Scolopendras 2  are,  in  our  time,  the  only 

1  The  class  of  molluscs  containing  the  Squids,  Cuttle- 
fish, Octopus,  etc. — Translator's  Note. 

2  A   genus   of   Myriapods   including  the   typical    Centi- 
pedes.— Translator's  Note. 

223 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

other  animals  that  make  use  of  the  queer 
apparatus.  Now  Octopuses  and  Millepedes 
date  back  to  the  earliest  ages.  The  Decticus, 
another  representative  of  the  old  world, 
seems  to  tell  us  that  what  is  a  curious  ex- 
ception now  might  well  have  been  a  more  or 
less  general  rule  originally,  all  the  more  so 
as  we  shall  come  upon  similar  incidents  in  the 
case  of  the  other  Grasshoppers. 

When  the  male  has  recovered  from  his 
shock,  he  shakes  the  dust  off  himself  and 
once  more  begins  his  merry  click-clack.  For 
the  present  let  us  leave  him  to  his  joys  and 
follow  the  mother  that  is  to  be,  pacing  along 
solemnly  with  her  burden,  which  is  fastened 
with  a  plug  of  jelly  as  transparent  as  glass. 

At  intervals  she  draws  herself  up  on  her 
shanks,  curls  into  a  ring  and  seizes  her 
opalescent  load  in  her  mandibles,  nibbling  it 
calmly  and  squeezing  it,  but  without  tearing 
the  wrapper  or  shedding  any  of  the  contents. 
Each  time,  she  removes  from  the  surface  a 
particle  which  she  chews  and  then  chews 
again  slowly,  ending  by  swallowing  it. 

This    process    is    continued    for    twenty 

minutes    or    so.      Then    the    capsule,    now 

drained,  is  torn  off  in  a  single  piece,  all  but 

the  jelly  plug  at  the  end.    The  huge,  sticky 

224 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

mass  is  not  let  go  for  a  moment,  but  is 
munched,  ground  and  kneaded  by  the  insect's 
mandibles  and  at  last  gulped  down  whole. 

At  first  I  looked  upon  the  horrible  banquet 
as  no  more  than  an  individual  aberration,  an 
accident:  the  Decticus'  behaviour  was  so  ex- 
traordinary; no  other  instance  of  it  was 
known  to  me.  But  I  have  had  to  yield  to  the 
evidence  of  the  facts.  Four  times  in  success- 
ion I  surprised  my  captives  dragging  their 
wallet  and  four  times  I  saw  them  soon  tear 
it,  work  at  it  solemnly  with  their  mandibles 
for  hours  on  end  and  finally  gulp  it  down. 
It  is  therefore  the  rule:  when  its  contents 
have  reached  their  destination,  the  fertilizing 
capsule,  possibly  a  powerful  stimulant,  an 
unparalleled  dainty,  is  chewed,  enjoyed  and 
swallowed. 

If  this,  as  we  are  entitled  to  believe,  is  a 
relic  of  ancient  manners,  we  must  admit  that 
the  insect  of  old  had  singular  customs. 
Reaumur  tells  us  of  the  startling  operations 
of  the  Dragon-flies  when  pairing.  This 
again  is  a  nuptial  eccentricity  of  primeval 
times. 

When  the  Decticus  has  finished  her  strange 
feast,  the  end  of  the  apparatus  still  remains 
in  its  place,  the  end  whose  most  visible 
225 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

part  consists  of  two  crystalline  nipples  the 
size  of  pepper-corns.  To  rid  itself  of  this 
plug,  the  insect  assumes  a  curious  attitude. 
The  ovipositor  is  driven  half-way  into  the 
earth,  perpendicularly.  That  will  be  the 
prop.  The  long  hind-legs  straighten  out, 
raise  the  creature  as  high  as  possible  and 
form  a  tripod  with  the  sabre. 

Then  the  insect  again  curves  itself  into  a 
complete  circle  and,  with  its  mandibles, 
crumbles  to  atoms  the  end  of  the  apparatus, 
consisting  of  a  plug  of  clearest  jelly.  All 
these  remnants  are  scrupulously  swallowed. 
Not  a  scrap  must  be  lost.  Lastly,  the 
ovipositor  is  washed,  wiped,  smoothed  with 
the  tips  of  the  palpi.  Everything  is  put  in 
order  again;  nothing  remains  of  the  cum- 
brous load.  The  normal  pose  is  resumed 
and  the  Decticus  goes  back  to  pilfering  the 
ears  of  millet. 

To  return  to  the  male.  Limp  and  ex- 
hausted, as  though  shattered  by  his  exploit, 
he  remains  where  he  is,  all  shrivelled  and 
shrunk.  He  is  so  motionless  that  I  believe 
him  dead.  Not  a  bit  of  it!  The  gallant 
fellow  recovers  his  spirits,  picks  himself  up, 
polishes  himself  and  goes  off.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  later,  when  he  has  taken  a  fewmouth- 
226 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

fuls,  behold  him  stridulating  once  more. 
The  tune  is  certainly  lacking  in  spirit.  It  is 
far  from  being  as  brilliant  or  prolonged  as 
it  was  before  the  wedding;  but,  after  all,  the 
poor  old  crock  is  doing  his  best. 

Can  he  have  any  further  amorous  pre- 
tensions? It  is  hardly  likely.  Affairs  of 
that  kind,  calling  for  ruinous  expenditure, 
are  not  to  be  repeated :  it  would  be  too  much 
for  the  works  of  the  organism.  Neverthe- 
less, next  day  and  every  day  after,  when  a 
diet  of  Locusts  has  duly  renewed  his  strength, 
the  Decticus  scrapes  his  bow  as  noisily  as 
ever.  He  might  be  a  novice,  instead  of  a 
glutted  veteran.  His  persistence  surprises 
me. 

If  he  be  really  singing  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  his  fair  neighbours,  what  would  he  do 
with  a  second  wife,  he  who  has  just  extracted 
from  his  paunch  a  monstrous  wallet  in  which 
all  life's  savings  were  accumulated?  He  is 
thoroughly  used  up.  No,  once  more,  in  the 
big  Grasshopper  these  things  are  too  costly 
to  be  done  all  over  again.  To-day's  song, 
despite  its  gladness,  is  certainly  no  epi- 
thalamium. 

And,  if  you  watch  him  closely,  you  will 
see  that  the  singer  no  longer  responds  to  the 
227 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

teasing  of  the  passers'  antennae.  The  ditties 
become  fainter  from  day  to  day  and  occur 
less  frequently.  In  a  fortnight  the  insect  is 
dumb.  The  dulcimer  no  longer  sounds,  for 
lack  of  vigour  in  the  player. 

At  last  -the  decrepit  Decticus,  who  now 
scarcely  touches  food,  seeks  a  peaceful  re- 
treat, sinks  to  the  ground  exhausted, 
stretches  out  his  shanks  in  a  last  throe  and 
dies.  As  it  happens,  the  widow  passes  that 
way,  sees  the  deceased  and,  breathing  eternal 
remembrance,  gnaws  off  one  of  his  thighs. 

The  Green  Grasshopper  behaves  similarly. 
A  couple  isolated  in  a  cage  are  subjected  to 
a  special  watch.  I  am  present  at  the  end  of 
the  pairing,  when  the  future  mother  is  carry- 
ing, fixed  to  the  point  of  her  sword,  the 
pretty  raspberry  which  will  occupy  our  atten- 
tion later.1  Debilitated  by  recent  happen- 
ings, the  male  at  this  moment  is  mute.  Next 
day,  his  strength  returns;  and  you  hear  him 
singing  as  ardently  as  ever.  He  stridulates 
while  the  mother  is  scattering  her  eggs  over 
the  ground;  he  goes  on  making  a  noise  long 
after  the  laying  is  done  and  when  nothing 
more  is  wanted  to  perpetuate  the  race. 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XIV.  of  the  present  volume. — Translator's 
Note. 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  his  Habits 

It  is  quite  clear  that  this  persistent  singing 
has  not  an  amorous  appeal  for  its  object: 
by  this  time,  all  of  that  is  over,  quite  over. 
Lastly,  one  day  or  another,  life  fails  and  the 
instrument  is  dumb.  The  eager  singer  is  no 
more.  The  survivor  gives  him  a  funeral 
copied  from  that  of  the  Decticus:  she  de- 
vours the  best  bits  of  him.  She  loved  him 
so  much  that  she  had  to  eat  him  up. 

These  cannibal  habits  recur  in  most  of  the 
Grasshopper  tribe,  without  however  equal- 
ling the  atrocities  of  the  Praying  Mantis, 
who  treats  her  lovers  as  dead  game  while 
they  are  still  full  of  life.  The  Decticus 
mother,  the  Green  Grasshopper  and  the  rest 
at  least  wait  until  the  poor  wretches  are  dead. 

I  will  except  the  Ephippiger,  who  is  so  meek 
in  appearance.  In  my  cage,  when  laying-time 
is  at  hand,  she  has  no  scruples  about  taking 
a  bite  at  her  companions,  without  possessing 
the  excuse  of  hunger.  Most  of  the  males  end 
in  this  lamentable  fashion,  half-devoured. 
The  mutilated  victim  protests;  he  would 
rather,  he  could  indeed  go  on  living.  Having 
no  other  means  of  defence,  he  produces  with 
his  bow  a  few  grating  sounds  which  this  time 
decidedly  are  not  a  nuptial  song.  Dying 
with  a  great  hole  in  his  belly,  he  utters  his 
229 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

plaint  in  a  like  manner  as  though  he  were 
rejoicing  in  the  sun.  His  instrument  strikes 
the  same  note  whether  it  express  sorrow  or 
gladness. 


230 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    WHITE-FACED  DECTICUS :   THE   LAYING 
AND   THE    HATCHING   OF   THE   EGGS 

THE  White-faced  Decticus  is  an  African 
insect  that  in  France  hardly  ventures 
beyond  the  borders  of  Provence  and  Langue- 
doc.  She  wants  the  sun  that  ripens  the 
olives.  Can  it  be  that  a  high  temperature 
acts  as  a  stimulus  to  her  matrimonial  eccen- 
tricities, or  are  we  to  look  upon  these  as 
family  customs,  independent  of  climate  ?  Do 
things  happen  under  frosty  skies  just  as  they 
do  under  a  burning  sun  ? 

I  go  for  my  information  to  another 
Decticus,  the  Alpine  Analota  (A.  alpina, 
YERSIN),  who  inhabits  the  high  ridges  of 
Mont  Ventoux,1  which  are  covered  with  snow 
for  half  the  year.  Many  a  time,  during  my 
old  botanical  expeditions,  I  had  noticed  the 

'The  highest  mountain  (6,270  feet)  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Serignan.  Cf.  The  Hunting  Wasps:  chap.  xi. — 
Translator's  Note. 

231 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

portly  insect  hopping  among  the  stones  from 
one  bit  of  turf  to  the  next.  This  time,  I  do 
not  go  in  search  of  it:  it  reaches  me  by 
post.  Following  my  indications,  an  obliging 
forester1  climbs  up  there  twice  in  the  first 
fortnight  of  August  and  brings  me  back  the 
wherewithal  to  fill  a  cage  comfortably. 

In  shape  and  colouring  it  is  a  curious 
specimen  of  the  Grasshopper  family.  Satin- 
white  underneath,  it  has  the  upper  part 
sometimes  olive-black,  sometimes  bright- 
green  or  pale-brown.  The  organs  of  flight 
are  reduced  to  mere  vestiges.  The  female 
has  as  wing-cases  two  short  white  scales, 
some  distance  apart;  the  male  shelters  under 
the  edge  of  his  corselet  two  little  concave 
plates,  also  white,  but  laid  one  on  top  of  the 
other,  the  left  on  the  right. 

These  two  tiny  cupolas,  with  bow  and 
sounding-board,  rather  suggest,  on  a  smaller 
scale,  the  musical  instrument  of  the  Ephip- 
piger,  whom  the  mountain  insect  resembles 
to  some  extent  in  general  appearance. 

I  do  not  know  what  sort  of  tune  cymbals 
so  small  as  these  can  produce.  I  do  not 
remember  ever  hearing  them  in  their  native 

*  M.  Bellot,  forest-ranger  of  Beaumont  (Vaucluse). — 
Author's  Note. 

232 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

haunts;  and  three  months'  home  breeding 
gives  me  no  further  information  in  this  re- 
spect. Though  they  lead  a  joyous  life,  my 
captives  are  always  dumb. 

The  exiles  do  not  seem  greatly  to  regret 
their  cold  peaks,  among  the  orange  poppies 
and  saxifrages  of  arctic  climes.  What  used 
they  to  browse  upon  up  there  ?  The  Alpine 
meadow-grass,  Mont-Cenis  violets,  Alli- 
oni's  bell-flower?  I  do  not  know.  In  the 
absence  of  Alpine  grasses,  I  give  them  the 
common  endive  from  my  garden.  They 
accept  it  without  hesitation. 

They  also  accept  such  Locusts  as  can  offer 
only  a  feeble  resistance;  and  the  diet  alter- 
nates between  animal  and  vegetable  fare. 
They  even  practise  cannibalism.  If  one  of 
my  Alpine  visitors  limps  and  drags  a  leg,  the 
others  eat  him  up.  So  far  I  have  seen  no- 
thing striking:  these  are  the  usual  Grass- 
hopper manners. 

The  interesting  sight  is  the  pairing,  which 
occurs  suddenly,  without  any  prelude.  The 
meeting  takes  place  sometimes  on  the  ground, 
sometimes  on  the  wirework  of  the  cage.  In 
the  latter  case,  the  sword-bearer,  firmly 
hooked  to  the  trellis,  supports  the  whole 
weight  of  the  couple.  The  other  is  back 
233 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

downwards,  his  head  pointing  to  his  mate's 
tail.  With  his  long,  fleshy-shanked  hind- 
legs,  he  gets  a  grip  of  her  sides;  with  his 
four  front  legs,  often  also  with  his  mandibles, 
he  grasps  and  squeezes  the  sabre,  which  pro- 
jects slantwise.  Thus  hanging  to  this  sort 
of  greased  pole,  he  operates  in  space. 

When  the  meeting  takes  place  on  the 
ground,  the  couple  occupy  the  same  position, 
only  the  male  is  lying  on  his  back  in  the  sand. 
In  both  cases  the  result  is  an  opal  grain 
which,  in  the  visible  part  of  it,  resembles  in 
shape  and  size  the  swollen  end  of  a  grape-pip. 

As  soon  as  this  object  is  in  position,  the 
male  decamps  at  full  speed.  Can  he  be  in 
danger?  Possibly,  to  judge  from  what  I 
have  seen.  I  admit  that  I  have  seen  it  only 
once. 

The  bride  in  this  case  was  grappling  with 
two  rivals.  One  of  them,  hanging  to  the 
sabre,  was  at  work  in  due  form  behind;  the 
other,  in  front,  tightly  clawed  and  with  his 
belly  ripped  open,  was  waving  his  limbs  in 
vain  protest  against  the  harpy  crunching  him 
impassively  in  small  mouthfuls.  I  had  before 
my  eyes,  under  even  more  atrocious  condi- 
tions, the  horrors  which  the  Praying  Mantis 
had  shown  me  in  the  old  days:  unbridled 
234 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

rut;  carnage  and  voluptuousness  in  one;  a 
reminiscence  perhaps  of  ancient  savagery. 

As  a  rule,  the  male,  a  dwarf  by  comparison 
with  the  female,  hastens  to  run  away  as  soon 
as  his  task  is  consummated.  The  deserted 
one  makes  no  movement.  Then,  after  wait- 
ing twenty  minutes  or  so,  she  curves  herself 
into  a  ring  and  proceeds  to  enjoy  the  final 
banquet.  She  pulls  the  sticky  raisin-pip  into 
shreds  which  are  chewed  with  grave  appre- 
ciation and  then  gulped  down.  It  takes  her 
more  than  an  hour  to  swallow  the  thing. 
When  not  a  crumb  remains,  she  descends 
from  the  wire  gauze  and  mingles  with  the 
herd.  Her  eggs  will  be  laid  in  a  day  or 
two. 

The  proof  is  established.  The  matri- 
monial habits  of  the  White-faced  Decticus 
are  not  an  exception  due  to  the  heat  of  the 
climate :  the  Grasshopper  from  the  cold 
peaks  shares  them  and  surpasses  them. 

We  will  return  to  the  big  Decticus  with 
the  ivory  face.  The  laying  follows  close 
upon  the  strange  events  which  we  have  de- 
scribed. It  is  done  piecemeal,  as  the  ovaries 
ripen.  Firmly  planted  on  her  six  legs,  the 
mother  bends  her  abdomen  into  a  semicircle 
and  drives  her  sabre  perpendicularly  into  the 
235 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

soil,  which,  consisting  in  my  cages  of  sifted 
earth,  presents  no  serious  resistance.  The 
ovipositor  therefore  descends  without  hesita- 
tion and  enters  up  to  the  hilt,  that  is  to  say, 
to  a  depth  of  about  an  inch. 

For  nearly  fifteen  minutes,  absolute  im- 
mobility. This  is  the  time  when  the  eggs 
are  being  laid.  At  last  the  sabre  comes  up 
a  little  way  and  the  abdomen  swings  briskly 
from  side  to  side,  communicating  an  alter- 
nate transversal  movement  to  the  implement. 
This  tends  to  scrape  out  and  widen  the 
sunken  hole ;  it  also  has  the  effect  of  releasing 
from  the  walls  earthy  materials  which  fill  up 
the  bottom  of  the  cavity.  Thereupon  the 
ovipositor,  which  is  half  in  and  half  out, 
rams  down  this  dust.  It  comes  up  a  short 
distance  and  then  dips  repeatedly,  with  a 
sudden,  jerky  movement.  We  should  work 
in  the  same  way  with  a  stick  to  ram  down 
the  earth  in  a  perpendicular  hole.  Thus 
alternating  the  transversal  swing  of  the 
sabre  with  the  blows  of  the  rammer,  the 
mother  covers  up  the  well  pretty  quickly. 

The  external  traces  of  the  work  have  still 

to  be  done  away  with.     The  insect's  legs, 

which  I  expected  to  see  brought  into  play, 

remain     inactive     and     keep     the     position 

236 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

adopted  for  laying  the  eggs.  The  sabre 
alone  scratches,  sweeps  and  smooths  the 
ground  with  its  point,  very  clumsily,  it  must 
be  admitted. 

Now  all  is  in  order.  The  abdomen  and 
the  ovipositor  are  restored  to  their  normal 
positions.  The  mother  allows  herself  a  mo- 
ment's rest  and  goes  to  take  a  turn  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Soon  she  comes  back  to  the 
site  where  she  has  already  laid  her  eggs 
and,  very  near  the  original  spot,  which  she 
recognizes  clearly,  she  drives  in  her  tool 
afresh.  The  same  proceedings  as  before  are 
repeated. 

Follow  another  rest,  another  exploration 
of  the  vicinity,  another  return  to  the  place 
already  sown.  For  the  third  time  the  pointed 
stake  descends,  only  a  very  slight  distance 
away  from  the  previous  hole.  During  the 
brief  hour  that  I  am  watching  her,  I  see  her 
resume  her  laying  five  times,  after  breaking 
off  to  take  a  little  stroll  in  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  the  points  selected  are  always  very 
close  together. 

On  the  following  days,  at  varying  inter- 
vals, the  sowing  is  renewed  for  a  certain 
number  of  times  which  I  am  not  able  to  state 
exactly.  In  the  case  of  each  of  these  partial 
237 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

layings,  the  site  changes,  now  here,  now 
there,  as  this  or  that  spot  is  deemed  the  more 
propitious. 

When  everything  is  finished,  I  examine  the 
little  pits  in  which  the  Decticus  placed  her 
eggs.  There  are  no  packets  in  a  foamy 
sheath,  such  as  the  Locust  supplies;  no  cells 
either.  The  eggs  lie  singly,  without  any  pro- 
tection. I  gather  three  score  as  the  total 
product  of  one  mother.  They  are  of  a  pale 
lilac-grey  and  are  drawn  out  shuttlewise,  in 
a  narrow  ellipsoid  five  or  six  millimetres 
long.1 

The  same  isolation  marks  those  of  the 
Grey  Decticus,  which  are  black;  those  of  the 
Vine  Ephippiger,  which  are  ashen-grey;  and 
those  of  the  Alpine  Analota,  which  are  pale- 
lilac.  The  eggs  of  the  Green  Grasshopper, 
which  are  a  very  dark  olive -brown  and,  like 
those  of  the  White-faced  Decticus,  about 
sixty  in  number,  are  sometimes  arranged 
singly  and  sometimes  stuck  together  in  little 
clusters. 

These  different  examples  show  us  that  the 
Grasshoppers  plant  with  a  dibble.  Instead 
of  packing  their  seeds  in  little  casks  of 
hardened  foam,  like  the  Locusts,  they  put 

1 .195  to  .234  inch. — Translator's  Note, 
238 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

them  into  the  earth  one  by  one  or  in  very 
small  clusters. 

The  hatching  is  worth  examination;  I  will 
explain  why  presently.  I  therefore  gather 
plenty  of  eggs  of  the  big  Decticus  at  the  end 
of  August  and  place  them  in  a  small  glass 
jar  with  a  layer  of  sand.  Without  under- 
going any  apparent  modification,  they  spend 
eight  months  here  under  cover,  sheltered 
from  the  frosts,  the  showers  and  the  over- 
powering heat  of  the  sun  that  would  await 
them  under  natural  conditions. 

When  June  comes,  I  often  meet  young 
Dectici  in  the  fields.  Some  are  already  half 
their  adult  size,  which  is  evidence  of  an  early 
appearance  dating  back  to  the  first  fine  days 
of  the  year.  Nevertheless  my  jar  shows  no 
signs  of  any  imminent  hatching.  I  find  the 
eggs  just  as  I  gathered  them  nine  months 
ago,  neither  wrinkled  nor  tarnished,  wear- 
ing, on  the  contrary,  a  most  healthy  look. 
What  causes  this  indefinitely  prolonged  de- 
lay? 

A  suspicion  occurs  to  me.  The  eggs  of 
the  Grasshopper  tribe  are  planted  in  the 
earth  like  seeds.  They  are  there  exposed, 
without  any  kind  of  protection,  to  the  watery 
influence  of  the  snow  and  the  rain.  Those 
239 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

in  my  jar  have  spent  two-thirds  of  the  year 
in  a  state  of  comparative  dryness.  Perhaps, 
in  order  to  hatch,  they  lack  what  grain  abso- 
lutely needs  in  order  to  sprout.  Animal 
seeds  as  they  are,  they  may  yet  require  under 
earth  the  moisture  necessary  to  vegetable 
seeds.  Let  us  try. 

I  place  at  the  bottom  of  some  glass  tubes, 
to  enable  me  to  make  certain  observations 
which  I  have  in  mind,  a  pinch  of  backward 
eggs  taken  from  my  collection;  and  on 
the  top  I  heap  lightly  a  layer  of  very  fine, 
damp  sand.  The  receptacle  is  closed  with  a 
plug  of  wet  cotton,  which  will  maintain  a 
constant  moisture  in  the  interior.  The 
column  of  sand  measures  about  an  inch,  which 
is  very  much  the  depth  at  which  the  ovi- 
positor places  the  eggs.  Any  one  seeing  my 
preparations  and  unacquainted  with  their  ob- 
ject would  hardly  suspect  them  of  being  in- 
cubators; he  would  be  more  likely  to  think 
them  the  apparatus  of  a  botanist  who  was 
experimenting  with  seeds. 

My  anticipation  was  correct.  Favoured 
by  the  high  temperature  of  the  summer 
solstice,  the  Grasshopper  seed  does  not  take 
long  to  sprout.  The  eggs  swell;  the  front 
end  of  each  is  spotted  with  two  dark  dots, 
240 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

the  rudiments  of  the  eyes.  It  is  quite  evi- 
dent that  the  bursting  of  the  shell  is  near  at 
hand. 

I  spend  a  fortnight  in  keeping  a  tedious 
watch  at  every  hour  of  the  day:  I  have  to 
surprise  the  young  Decticus  actually  leaving 
the  egg,  if  I  want  to  solve  a  question  that 
has  long  been  vexing  my  mind.  The  quest- 
ion is  this:  the  Grasshopper's  egg  is  buried 
at  a  varying  depth,  according  to  the  length 
of  the  ovipositor  or  dibble.  An  inch  is 
about  the  most  for  the  seeds  of  the  best- 
equipped  insects  in  our  parts.  Now  the  new- 
born Decticus,  hopping  awkwardly  in  the 
grass  at  the  approach  of  summer,  is,  like  the 
adult,  endowed  with  a  pair  of  very  long 
tentacles,  vying  with  hairs  for  slenderness; 
he  carries  behind  him  two  extraordinary  legs, 
two  enormous  hinged  levers,  a  pair  of 
jumping-stilts  that  would  be  very  incon- 
venient for  ordinary  walking.  How  does 
the  feeble  little  creature  set  to  work,  with 
this  cumbrous  luggage,  to  emerge  from  the 
earth?  By  what  artifice  does  it  manage 
to  clear  a  passage  through  the  rough 
soil?  With  its  antennary  plumes,  which  an 
atom  of  sand  can  break,  with  its  immense 
shanks,  which  the  least  effort  is  enough  to 
241 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

disjoint,  the  mite  is  obviously  incapable  of 
reaching  the  surface  and  freeing  itself. 

The  miner  going  underground  puts  on  a 
protective  dress.  The  little  Grasshopper 
also,  making  a  hole  in  the  earth  in  the  oppo- 
site direction,  must  don  an  overall  for  emer- 
ging from  the  earth;  he  must  possess  a 
simpler,  more  compact  transition-form,  which 
enables  him  to  come  out  through  the  sand, 
a  delivery-shape  analogous  to  that  which  the 
Cicada  and  the  Praying  Mantis  use  at  the 
moment  of  issuing,  one  from  his  twig,  the 
other  from  the  labyrinth  of  his  nest. 

Reality  and  logic  here  agree.  The  Dec- 
ticus,  in  point  of  fact,  does  not  leave  the  egg 
in  the  form  in  which  I  see  him,  the  day  after 
his  birth,  hopping  on  the  lawn;  he  possesses 
a  temporary  structure  better-suited  to  the  dif- 
ficulties of  the  emergence.  Coloured  a  deli- 
cate flesh-white,  the  tiny  creature  is  cased  in 
a  scabbard  which  keeps  the  six  legs  flattened 
against  the  abdomen,  stretching  backwards, 
inert.  In  order  to  slip  more  easily  under  the 
ground,  he  has  his  shanks  tied  up  beside  his 
body.  The  antennas,  those  other  irksome 
appendages,  are  motionless,  pressed  against 
the  parcel. 

The  head  is  very  much  bent  against  the 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

chest.  With  its  big,  black  ocular  specks  and 
its  undecided  and  rather  bloated  mask,  it 
suggests  a  diver's  helmet.  The  neck  opens 
wide  at  the  back  and,  with  a  slow  throbbing, 
by  turns  swells  and  subsides.  That  is  the 
motor.  The  new-born  insect  moves  along 
with  the  aid  of  its  occipital  hernia.  When 
uninflated,  the  fore-part  pushes  back  the 
damp  sand  a  little  way  and  slips  into  it  by 
digging  a  tiny  pit;  then,  blown  out,  it  be- 
comes a  knob,  which  moulds  itself  and  finds 
a  support  in  the  depression  obtained.  Then 
the  rear-end  contracts;  and  this  gives  a  step 
forward.  Each  thrust  of  the  locomotive 
blister  means  nearly  a  millimetre  x  traversed. 

It  is  pitiful  to  see  this  budding  flesh, 
scarcely  tinged  with  pink,  knocking  with  its 
dropsical  neck  and  ramming  the  rough  soil. 
The  animal  glair,  not  yet  quite  hardened, 
struggles  painfully  with  stone;  and  its  efforts 
are  so  well  directed  that,  in  the  space  of  a 
morning,  a  gallery  opens,  either  straight  or 
winding,  an  inch  long  and  as  wide  as  an 
average  straw.  In  this  way  the  harassed 
insect  reaches  the  surface. 

Half-caught  in  its  exit-shaft,  the  disin- 
terred one  halts,  waits  for  its  strength  to 

1 .039  inch. — Translator's  Note. 
243 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

return  and  then  for  the  last  time  swells  its 
occipital  hernia  as  far  as  it  will  go  and  bursts 
the  sheath  that  has  protected  it  so  far.  The 
creature  throws  off  its  miner's  overall. 

Here  at  last  is  the  Decticus  in  his  youthful 
shape,  quite  pale  still,  but  darker  the  next 
day  and  a  regular  blackamoor  compared  with 
the  adult.  As  a  prelude  to  the  ivory  face  of 
a  riper  age,  he  sports  a  narrow  white  stripe 
under  his  hinder  thighs. 

Little  Decticus,  hatched  before  my  eyes, 
life  opens  for  you  very  harshly!  Many  of 
your  kindred  must  die  of  exhaustion  before 
attaining  their  freedom.  In  my  tubes  I  see 
numbers  who,  stopped  by  a  grain  of  sand, 
succumb  half-way  and  become  furred  with  a 
sort  of  silky  mildew.  The  mouldy  part  soon 
absorbs  their  poor  little  remains.  When  per- 
formed without  my  assistance,  the  coming  to 
the  light  of  day  must  be  attended  with  even 
greater  dangers.  The  usual  soil  is  coarse 
and  baked  by  the  sun.  Without  a  fall  of 
rain,  how  do  they  manage,  these  immured 
ones? 

More  fortunate  in  my  tubes  with  their 
sifted  and  wetted  mould,  here  you  are  out- 
side, you  little  white-striped  nigger;  you 
bite  at  the  lettuce-leaf  which  I  have  given 
244 


The  White-faced  Decticus:  the  Eggs 

you ;  you  leap  about  gaily  in  the  cage  where 
I  have  housed  you.  It  would  be  easy  to  rear 
you,  I  can  see,  but  it  would  not  give  me  much 
fresh  information.  Let  us  then  part  com- 
pany. I  restore  you  to  liberty.  In  return 
for  what  you  have  taught  me,  I  bestow  upon 
you  the  grass  and  the  Locusts  in  the  garden. 
Thanks  to  you,  I  know  that  Grasshoppers, 
in  order  to  leave  the  ground  in  which  the 
eggs  are  laid,  possess  a  provisional  shape,  a 
primary  larval  stage,  which  keeps  those 
too  cumbrous  parts,  the  long  legs  and 
antennas,  swathed  in  a  common  sheath;  I 
know  that  this  sort  of  mummy,  fit  only  to 
lengthen  and  shorten  itself  a  little,  has  for  an 
organ  of  locomotion  a  hernia  in  the  neck, 
a  throbbing  blister,  an  original  piece  of 
mechanism  which  I  have  never  seen  used 
elsewhere  as  an  aid  to  progression.1 

1  This  essay  was  written  prior  to  that  on  the  Grey 
Flesh-flies,  who  employ  a  similar  method.  Cf.  The  Life 
of  the  Fly:  chap.  x. — Translator's  Note. 


245 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   WHITE-FACED  DECTICUS :  THE   INSTRU- 
MENT  OF   SOUND 

ART  has  three  fields  which  it  may  culti- 
•**-vate  in  the  realm  of  natural  objects: 
form,  colour  and  sound.  The  sculptor  uses 
form  and  imitates  its  perfection  in  so  far  as 
the  chisel  is  able  to  imitate  life.  The 
draughtsman,  likewise  a  copyist,  seeks  in 
black  and  white  to  give  the  illusion  of  relief 
on  a  flat  surface.  To  the  difficulties  of  draw- 
ing the  painter  adds  those  of  colour,  which 
are  no  less  great. 

An  inexhaustible  model  sits  to  all  three. 
Rich  though  the  painter's  palette  be,  it  will 
always  be  inferior  to  that  of  reality.  Nor 
will  the  sculptor's  chisel  ever  exhaust  the 
treasures  of  the  plastic  art  in  nature.  Form 
and  colour,  beauty  of  outline  and  play  of 
light :  these  are  all  taught  by  the  contempla- 
tion of  actual  things.  They  are  imitated, 
246 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

they  are  combined  according  to  our  tastes, 
but  they  are  not  invented. 

On  the  other  hand,  our  music  has  no  pro- 
totype in  the  symphony  of  created  things. 
Certainly  there  is  no  lack  of  sounds,  faint  or 
loud,  sweet  and  solemn.  The  wind  roaring 
through  the  storm-tossed  woods,  the  waves 
curling  and  breaking  on  the  beach,  the 
thunder  growling  in  the  echoing  clouds  stir 
us  with  their  majestic  notes;  the  breeze 
filtering  through  the  tiny  foliage  of  the  pine- 
trees,  the  Bees  humming  over  the  spring 
flowers  charm  every  ear  endowed  with  any 
delicacy;  but  these  are  monotonous  noises, 
with  no  connection.  Nature  has  superb 
sounds;  she  has  no  music. 

Howling,  braying,  grunting,  neighing,  bel- 
lowing, bleating,  yelping:  these  exhaust  the 
phonetics  of  our  near  neighbours  in  organ- 
ization. A  musical  score  composed  of  such 
elements  would  be  called  a  hullabaloo.  Man, 
forming  a  striking  exception  at  the  top  of 
the  scale  of  these  makers  of  raucous  noises, 
took  it  into  his  head  to  sing.  An  attribute 
which  no  other  shares  with  him,  the  at- 
tribute of  coordinated  sounds  whence  springs 
the  incomparable  gift  of  speech,  led  him  on 
to  scientific  vocal  exercises.  In  the  absence 
247 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

of  a  model,  it  must  have  been  a  laborious 
apprenticeship. 

When  our  prehistoric  ancestor,  to  cele- 
brate his  return  from  hunting  the  Mammoth, 
intoxicated  himself  with  sour  tipple  brewed 
from  raspberries  and  sloes,  what  can  have 
issued  from  his  hoarse  larynx?  An  orthodox 
melody?  Certainly  not;  hoarse  shouts, 
rather,  capable  of  shaking  the  roof  of  his 
cave.  The  loudness  of  the  cry  constituted 
its  merit.  The  primitive  song  is  found  to 
this  day  when  men's  throats  are  fired  in 
taverns  instead  of  caverns. 

And  this  tenor,  with  his  crude  vocal  efforts, 
was  already  an  adept  at  guiding  his  pointed 
flint  to  engrave  on  ivory  the  effigy  of  the 
monstrous  animal  which  he  had  captured; 
he  knew  how  to  embellish  his  idol's  cheeks 
with  red  chalk;  he  knew  how  to  paint  his  own 
face  with  coloured  grease.  There  were 
plenty  of  models  for  form  and  colour  but' 
none  for  rhythmic  sounds. 

With  progress  came  the  musical  instru- 
ment, as  an  adjunct  to  those  first  guttural  at- 
tempts. Men  blew  down  tubes  taken  all  in 
one  piece  from  the  sappy  branches;  they  pro- 
duced sounds  from  the  barley-stalks  and 
made  whistles  out  of  reeds.  The  shell  of  a 
248 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

Snail,  held  between  two  fingers  of  the  closed 
fist,  imitated  the  Partridge's  call;  a  trumpet 
formed  of  a  wide  strip  of  bark  rolled  into 
a  horn  reproduced  the  bellowing  of  the  Bull; 
a  few  gut-strings  stretched  across  the  empty 
shell  of  a  calabash  grated  out  the  first  notes 
of  our  stringed  instruments;  a  Goat's  blad- 
der, fixed  on  a  solid  frame,  was  the  original 
drum;  two  flat  pebbles  struck  together  at 
measured  intervals  led  the  way  for  the  click 
of  the  castagnettes.  Such  must  have  been 
the  primitive  musical  materials,  materials 
still  preserved  by  the  child,  which,  with  its 
simplicity  in  things  artistic,  is  so  strongly 
reminiscent  of  the  big  child  of  yore. 

Classical  antiquity  knew  no  others,  as  wit- 
ness the  shepherds  of  Theocritus  and 
Virgil. 

Silvestrem  tenui  musam  meditaris  avena, 
says  Meliboeus  to  Tityrus.1 

*  "  Beneath  the  shade  which  beechen  boughs  diffuse, 
You,  Tityrus,  entertain  your  sylvan  muse. 

These  blessings  friend,  a  deity  bestowed: 

He  gave  my  kine  to  graze  the  flowery  plain 
And  to  my  pipe  renewed  the  rural  strain." 

— Pastorals:  book  i. ;  Dryden's  translation. 
249 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

What  are  we  to  make  of  this  oat-straw, 
this  frail  shepherd's  pipe,  as  they  used  to 
make  us  translate  it  in  my  young  days?  Did 
the  poet  write  avena  tenui  by  way  of  a 
rhetorical  figure,  or  was  he  describing  a 
reality?  I  vote  for  the  reality,  having  my- 
self in  the  old  days  heard  a  concert  of  shep- 
herd's pipes. 

It  was  in  Corsica,  at  Ajaccio.  In  gratitude 
for  a  handful  of  sugar-plums,  some  small 
boys  of  the  neighbourhood  came  one  day 
and  serenaded  me.  Quite  unexpectedly,  in 
gusts  of  untutored  harmony,  strange  sounds 
of  rare  sweetness  reached  my  ears.  I  ran 
to  the  window.  There  stood  the  orchestra, 
none  taller  than  a  jack-boot,  gathered  sol- 
emnly in  a  ring,  with  the  leader  in  the  middle. 
Most  of  them  had  at  their  lips  a  green  onion- 
stem,  distended  spindlewise;  others  a  stubble 
straw,  a  bit  of  reed  not  yet  hardened  by 
maturity. 

They  blew  into  these,  or  rather  they  sang 
a  vocero,  to  a  grave  measure,  perhaps  a 
relic  of  the  Greeks.  Certainly,  it  was  not 
music  as  we  understand  it;  still  less  was  it  a 
meaningless  noise;  but  it  was  a  vague,  un- 
dulating melody,  abounding  in  artless  irregu- 
larities, a  medley  of  pretty  sounds  in  which 
250 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

the  sibilations  of  the  straw  threw  into  relief 
the  bleating  of  the  swollen  stalks.  I  stood 
amazed  at  the  onion-stem  symphony.  Very 
much  so  must  the  shepherds  of  the  eclogue 
have  gone  to  work,  avena  tenui;  very  much 
so  must  the  bridal  epithalamium  have  been 
sung  in  the  Reindeer  period. 

Yes,  the  simple  melody  of  my  Corsican 
youngsters,  a  real  humming  of  Bees  on  the 
rosemaries,  has  left  a  lasting  trace  in  my 
memory.  I  can  hear  it  now.  It  taught  me 
the  value  of  the  rustic  pipes,  once  so  con- 
stantly celebrated  in  a  literature  that  is  now 
old-fashioned.  How  far  removed  are  we 
from  those  simple  joys!  To  charm  the 
populace  in  these  days  you  need  ophicleides, 
saxhorns,  trombones,  cornets,  every  imagina- 
ble sort  of  brass,  with  big  drums  and  little 
drums  and,  to  beat  time,  a  gun-shot.  That's 
what  progress  does. 

Three-and-twenty  centuries  ago,  Greece 
assembled  at  Delphi  for  the  festivals  of  the 
sun,  Phoebus  with  the  golden  locks.  Thrilled 
with  religious  emotion  she  listened  to  the 
Hymn  of  Apollo,  a  melody  of  a  few  lines, 
barely  supported  here  and  there  by  a  scanty 
chord  on  the  flute  and  cithara.  Hailed  as  a 
masterpiece,  the  sacred  song  was  engraved 
251 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

on  marble  tablets  which  the  archaeologists 
have  recently  exhumed. 

The  venerable  strains,  the  oldest  in 
musical  records,  have  been  heard  in  my  time 
in  the  ancient  theatre  at  Orange,  a  ruin  in 
stone  worthy  of  that  ruin  of  sound.  I  was 
not  present  at  the  performance,  being  kept 
away  by  my  habit  of  running  to  the  west 
whenever  there  are  fireworks  in  the  east. 
One  of  my  friends,  a  man  gifted  with  a  very 
sensitive  ear,  went;  and  he  said  to  me 
afterwards: 

"  There  were  probably  ten  thousand 
people  forming  the  audience  in  the  enormous 
amphitheatre.  I  very  much  doubt  whether 
one  of  them  understood  that  music  of  an- 
other age.  As  for  me,  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
listening  to  a  blind  man's  plaintive  ditty  and 
I  looked  round  involuntarily  for  the  dog 
holding  the  cup." 

The  barbarian,  to  turn  the  Greek  master- 
piece into  a  stupid  wail !  Was  it  irreverence 
on  his  part?  No,  but  it  was  incapacity.  His 
ear,  trained  in  accordance  with  other  rules, 
was  unable  to  take  pleasure  in  artless  sounds 
which  had  become  strange  and  even  disagree- 
able owing  to  their  great  age.  What  my 
friend  lacked,  what  we  all  lack  is  the  per- 
252 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

ception  of  those  primitive  niceties  which 
have  been  stifled  by  the  centuries.  To  enjoy 
the  Hymn  to  Apollo,  we  should  have  to  go 
back  to  the  simplicity  of  soul  which  one  day 
made  me  think  the  buzzing  of  the  onion- 
stalks  delightful.  And  that  we  shall  never 
do. 

But,  if  our  music  need  not  draw  its  in- 
spiration from  the  Delphic  marbles,  our 
statuary  and  our  architecture  will  always  find 
models  of  incomparable  perfection  in  the 
work  of  the  Greeks.  The  art  of  sounds, 
having  no  prototype  imposed  on  it  by  na- 
tural facts,  is  liable  to  change:  with  our 
fickle  tastes,  that  which  is  perfect  in  music 
to-day  becomes  vulgar  and  commonplace  to- 
morrow. The  art  of  forms,  on  the  con- 
trary, being  based  on  the  immutable  founda- 
tion of  reality,  always  sees  the  beautiful 
where  previous  centuries  saw  it. 

There  is  no  musical  type  anywhere,  not 
even  in  the  song  of  the  Nightingale,  cele- 
brated by  Buffon  *  in  grandiloquent  terms. 

1  Georges  Louis  Leclerc  de  Buffon  (1707-1788),  the 
foremost  French  naturalist  and  one  of  the  foremost 
French  writers,  though  his  style,  as  Fabre  rightly  sug- 
gests, was  nothing  less  than  pompous.  He  was  the 
originator,  in  the  speech  delivered  at  his  reception  into 
the  French  academy,  of  the  famous  aphorism,  "  Le  style 
est  I'homme  meme." — Translator's  Note. 

253 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

I  have  no  wish  to  shock  anybody;  but  why 
should  I  not  give  my  opinion?  Buffon's 
style  and  the  Nightingale's  song  both  leave 
me  cold.  The  first  has  too  much  rhetoric 
about  it  and  not  enough  sincere  emotion. 
The  second,  a  magnificent  jewel-case  of  ill- 
assorted  pearls  of  sound,  makes  so  slight  an 
appeal  to  the  soul  that  a  penny  jug,  filled 
with  water  and  furnished  with  a  whistle, 
will  enable  the  lips  of  a  child  to  reproduce 
the  celebrated  songster's  finest  trills.  A  little 
earthenware  machine,  warbling  at  the  play- 
er's will,  rivals  the  Nightingale. 

Above  the  bird,  that  glorious  production 
of  a  vibrating  air-column,  creatures  roar  and 
bray  and  grunt,  until  we  come  to  man,  who 
alone  speaks  and  really  sings.  Below  the 
bird,  they  croak  or  are  silent.  The  bellows 
of  the  lungs  have  two  efflorescences  se- 
parated by  enormous  empty  spaces  filled  with 
formless  sounds.  Lower  down  still  is  the 
insect,  which  is  much  earlier  in  date.  This 
first-born  of  the  dwellers  on  the  earth  is  also 
the  first  singer.  Deprived  of  the  breath 
which  could  set  the  vocal  cords  vibrating, 
it  invents  the  bow  and  friction,  of  which  man 
is  later  to  make  such  wonderful  use. 

Various  Beetles  produce  a  noise  by  sliding 
254 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

one  rugged  surface  over  another.  The 
Capricorn  moves  his  corseleted  segment  over 
its  junction  with  the  rest  of  the  thorax; 
the  Pine  Cockchafer,1  with  his  great  fan- 
shaped  antennas,  rubs  his  last  dorsal  seg- 
ment with  the  edge  of  his  wing-cases;  the 
Copris2  and  many  more  know  no  other 
method.  To  tell  the  truth,  these  scrapers  do 
not  produce  a  musical  sound,  but  rather  a 
creaking  like  that  of  a  weathercock  on  its 
rusty  pin,  a  thin,  sharp  sound  with  no 
resonance  in  it. 

Among  these  inexperienced  scrapers,  I  will 
select  the  Bolboceras  (B.  gallicus,  MuLS.),3 
as  deserving  honourable  mention.  Round  as 
a  ball,  sporting  a  horn  on  his  forehead,  like 
the  Spanish  Copris,  whose  stercoral  tastes 
he  does  not  share,  this  pretty  Beetle  loves 
the  pine-woods  in  my  neighbourhood  and 
digs  himself  a  burrow  in  the  sand,  leaving  it 
in  the  evening  twilight  with  the  gentle  chirp 
of  a  well-fed  nestling  under  its  mother's 

1  Cf.  Social  Life  in  the  Insect  World,  by  J.  H.  Fabre, 
translated    by    Bernard    Miall:   chap.    xxi. — Translator's 
Note. 

2  A  Dung-beetle.    Cf.  The  Life  and  Love  of  the  Insect: 
chap.  v. — Translator's  Note. 

*  Cf.  The  Life  of  the  Caterpillar,  by  J.  Henri  Fabre, 
translated  by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos:  chap.  xiii. 
— Translator's  Note. 

255 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

wing.  Though  habitually  silent,  he  makes  a 
noise  at  the  least  disturbance.  A  dozen  of 
him  imprisoned  in  a  box  will  provide  you 
with  a  delightful  symphony,  very  faint,  it  is 
true :  you  have  to  hold  the  box  close  to  your 
ear  to  hear  it.  Compared  with  him,  the 
Capricorn,  Copris,  Pine  Cockchafer  and  the 
rest  are  rustic  fiddlers.  In  their  case,  after 
all,  it  is  not  singing,  but  rather  an  expression 
of  fear,  I  might  almost  say,  a  cry  of  anguish, 
a  moan.  The  insect  utters  it  only  in  a  mo- 
ment of  danger  and  never,  so  far  as  I  know, 
at  the  time  of  its  wedding. 

The  real  musician,  who  expresses  his  glad- 
ness by  strokes  of  the  bow  and  cymbals, 
dates  much  farther  back.  He  preceded  the 
insects  endowed  with  a  superior  organiza- 
tion, the  Beetle,  the  Bee,  the  Fly,  the  But- 
terfly, who  prove  their  higher  rank  by  com- 
plete transformations ;  he  is  closely  connected 
with  the  rude  beginnings  of  the  geological 
period.  The  singing  insect,  in  fact,  belongs 
exclusively  either  to  the  order  of  the  Hemip- 
tera,  including  the  Cicadae,  or  to  that  of  the 
Orthoptera,  including  the  Grasshoppers  and 
Crickets.  Its  incomplete  metamorphoses 
link  it  with  those  primitive  races  whose 
records  are  inscribed  in  our  coal-seams.  It 
256 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

is  one  of  the  first  that  mingled  the  sounds  of 
life  with  the  vague  murmuring  of  inert 
things.  It  was  singing  before  the  reptile  had 
learnt  to  breathe. 

This  shows,  from  the  mere  point  of  view 
of  sound,  the  futility  of  those  theories  of 
ours  which  try  to  explain  the  world  by  the 
automatic  evolution  of  progress  nascent  in 
the  primitive  cell.  All  is  yet  dumb;  and  al- 
ready the  insect  is  stridulating  as  correctly 
as  it  does  to-day.  Phonetics  start  with  an 
apparatus  which  the  ages  will  hand  down  to 
one  another  without  changing  any  essential 
part  of  it.  Then,  though  the  lungs  have  ap- 
peared, we  have  silence,  save  for  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  nostrils.  But  lo,  one  day, 
the  Frog  croaks;  and  soon,  with  no  prepara- 
tion, there  are  mingled  with  this  hideous 
concert  the  trills  of  the  Quail,  the  whistled 
stanzas  of  the  Thrush  and  the  Warbler's 
musical  strains.  The  larynx  in  its  highest 
form  has  come  into  existence.  What  will 
the  late-comers  do  with  it?  The  Ass  and 
the  Wild  Boar  give  us  our  reply.  We  find 
something  worse  than  marking  time,  we  find 
an  enormous  retrogression,  until  one  last 
bound  brings  us  to  man's  own  larynx. 

In  this  genesis  of  sounds  it  is  impossible  to 
257 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

talk  authoritatively  of  a  steady  progression 
which  makes  the  middling  follow  on  the  bad 
and  the  excellent  on  the  middling.  We  see 
nothing  but  abrupt  excursions,  intermittences, 
recoils,  sudden  expansions  not  foretold  by 
what  has  gone  before  nor  continued  by  that 
which  follows;  we  find  nothing  but  a  riddle 
whose  solution  does  not  lie  in  the  virtues  of 
the  cell  alone,  that  easy  pillow  for  whoso 
has  not  the  courage  to  search  deeper. 

But  let  us  leave  the  question  of  origins, 
that  inaccessible  domain,  and  come  down  to 
facts ;  let  us  cross-examine  a  few  representa- 
tives of  those  old  races  who  were  the  earliest 
exponents  of  the  art  of  sounds  and  took  it 
into  their  heads  to  sing  at  a  time  when  the 
mud  of  the  first  continents  was  hardening; 
let  us  ask  them  how  their  instrument  is  con- 
structed and  what  is  the  object  of  their  ditty. 

The  Grasshopper,  so  remarkable  both  for 
the  length  and  thickness  of  her  hinder  thighs 
and  for  her  ovipositor,  the  sabre  or  dibble 
which  plants  her  eggs,  is  one  of  the  chief 
performers  in  the  entomological  concert.  In- 
deed, if  we  except  the  Cicada,  who  is  often 
confused  with  her,  she  is  responsible  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  noise.  Only  one  of 
the  Orthoptera  surpasses  her;  and  that  is 
258 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

the  Cricket,  her  near  neighbour.  Let  us  first 
listen  to  the  White-faced  Decticus. 

The  performance  begins  with  a  hard, 
sharp,  almost  metallic  sound,  very  like  that 
emitted  by  the  Thrush  keeping  a  sharp  look- 
out while  he  stuffs  himself  with  olives.  It 
consists  of  a  series  of  isolated  notes,  tick- 
tick,  with  a  longish  pause  between  them. 
Then,  with  a  gradual  crescendo,  the  song 
develops  into  a  rapid  clicking  in  which  the 
fundamental  tick-tick  is  accompanied  by  a 
continuous  droning  bass.  At  the  end  the  cre- 
scendo becomes  so  loud  that  the  metallic 
note  disappears  and  the  sound  is  transformed 
into  a  mere  rustle,  a  frrrr-frrrr-frrrr  of  the 
greatest  rapidity. 

The  performer  goes  on  like  this  for  hours, 
with  alternating  strophes  and  rests.  In  calm 
weather,  the  song,  at  its  height,  can  be  heard 
twenty  steps  away.  That  is  no  great  di- 
stance. The  noise  made  by  the  Cicada  and 
the  Cricket  carries  much  farther. 

How  are  the  strains  produced?  The 
books  which  I  am  able  to  consult  leave  me 
perplexed.  They  tell  me  of  the  "  mirror," 
a  thin,  quivering  membrane  which  glistens 
like  a  blade  of  mica;  but  how  is  this  mem- 
brane made  to  vibrate?  That  is  what  they 
259 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

either  do  not  tell  us  or  else  tell  us  very 
vaguely  and  inaccurately,  talking  of  a  friction 
of  the  wing-cases,  mutual  rubbing  of  the 
nervures ;  and  that  is  all. 

I  should  like  a  more  lucid  explanation,  for 
a  Grasshopper's  musical-box,  I  feel  certain 
in  advance,  must  have  an  exact  mechanism 
of  its  own.  Let  us  therefore  look  into  the 
matter,  even  though  we  have  to  repeat  ob- 
servations already  perhaps  made  by  others, 
but  unknown  to  a  recluse  like  myself,  whose 
whole  library  consists  of  a  few  old  odd 
volumes. 

The  Decticus'  wing-cases  widen  at  the 
base  and  form  on  the  insect's  back  a  flat 
sunken  surface  shaped  like  an  elongated 
triangle.  This  is  the  sounding-board.  Here 
the  left  wing-case  folds  over  the  right  and, 
when  at  rest,  completely  covers  the  latter's 
musical  apparatus.  The  most  distinct  and, 
from  time  immemorial,  the  best-known  part 
of  it  is  the  mirror,  thus  called  because  of 
the  shininess  of  its  thin  oval  membrane,  set 
in  the  frame  of  a  nervure.  It  is  very  like 
the  skin  of  a  drum,  of  an  exquisitely  delicate 
tympanum,  with  this  difference,  that  it  sounds 
without  being  tapped.  Nothing  touches  the 
mirror  when  the  Decticus  sings.  Its  vibra- 
260 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

tions  are  imparted  to  it  after  starting  else- 
where. And  how?  I  will  tell  you. 

Its  edging  is  prolonged  at  the  inner  angle 
of  the  base  by  a  wide,  blunt  tooth,  furnished 
at  the  end  with  a  more  prominent  and  power- 
ful fold  than  the  other  nervures  distributed 
here  and  there.  I  will  call  this  fold  the 
friction-nervure.  This  is  the  starting-point 
of  the  concussion  that  makes  the  mirror  re- 
sound. The  evidence  will  appear  when  the 
remainder  of  the  apparatus  is  known. 

This  remainder,  the  motor  mechanism,  is 
on  the  left  wing-case,  covering  the  other  with 
its  flat  edge.  Outside,  there  is  nothing  re- 
markable, unless  it  be — and  even  then  one 
has  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  it — a  sort  of 
slightly  slanting,  transversal  pad,  which 
might  very  easily  be  taken  for  a  thicker 
nervure  than  the  others. 

But  examine  the  lower  surface  through  the 
magnifying-glass.  The  pad  is  much  more 
than  an  ordinary  nervure.  It  is  an  instru- 
ment of  the  highest  precision,  a  magnificent 
indented  bow,  marvellously  regular  on  its 
diminutive  scale.  Never  did  human  industry, 
when  cutting  metal  for  the  most  delicate 
clockwork  mechanism,  achieve  such  perfec- 
tion. Its  shape  is  that  of  a  curved  spindle. 
261 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

From  one  end  to  the  other  there  have  been 
cut  across  this  bow  about  eighty  triangular 
teeth,  which  are  very  even  and  are  of 
some  hard,  durable  material,  dark-brown  in 
colour. 

The  use  of  this  mechanical  gem  is  obvious. 
If  we  take  a  dead  Decticus  and  lift  the  flat 
rim  of  the  two  wing-cases  slightly  in  order 
to  place  them  in  the  position  which  they  oc- 
cupy when  sounding,  we  see  the  bow  fitting 
its  indentations  to  the  terminal  nervure 
which  I  have  called  the  f riction-nervure ;  we 
follow  the  line  of  teeth  which,  from  end  to 
end  of  the  row,  never  swerve  from  the 
points  to  be  set  in  motion;  and,  if  the  opera- 
tion be  done  at  all  dexterously,  the  dead  insect 
sings,  that  is  to  say,  strikes  a  few  of  its 
clicking  notes. 

The  secret  of  the  sounds  produced  by  the 
Decticus  is  out.  The  toothed  bow  of  the  left 
wing-case  is  the  motor;  the  friction-nervure 
of  the  right  wing-case  is  the  point  of  con- 
cussion; the  stretched  membrane  of  the 
mirror  is  the  resonator,  to  which  vibration  is 
communicated  by  the  shaking  of  the  sur- 
rounding frame.  Our  own  music  has  many 
vibrating  membranes;  but  these  are  always 
affected  by  direct  percussion.  Bolder  than 
262 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

our  makers  of  musical  instruments,  the  Dec- 
ticus combines  the  bow  with  the  drum. 

The  same  combination  is  found  in  the 
other  Grasshoppers.  The  most  famous  of 
these  is  the  Green  Grasshopper  (Locusta 
viridissima,  LIN.),  who  to  the  qualities  of  a 
handsome  stature  and  a  fine  green  colour 
adds  the  honour  of  classical  renown.  In  La 
Fontaine  she  is  the  Cicada  who  comes  alms- 
begging  of  the  Ant  when  the  north  wind 
blows.  Flies  and  Grubs  being  scarce,  the 
would-be  borrower  asks  for  a  few  grains  to 
live  upon  until  next  summer.  The  double 
diet,  animal  and  vegetable,  is  a  very  happy 
inspiration  on  the  fabulist's  part. 

The  Grasshopper,  in  fact,  has  the  same 
tastes  as  the  Decticus.  In  my  cages,  he  feeds 
on  lettuce-leaves  when  there  is  nothing  better 
going;  but  his  preference  is  all  in  favour  of 
the  Locust,  whom  he  crunches  up  without 
leaving  anything  but  the  wing-cases  and 
wings.  In  a  state  of  liberty,  his  preying  on 
that  ravenous  browser  must  largely  make  up 
to  us  for  the  small  toll  which  he  levies  on 
our  agricultural  produce. 

Except  in  a  few  details,  his  musical  in- 
strument is  the  same  as  that  of  the  Decticus. 
It  occupies,  at  the  base  of  the  wing-cases,  a 
263 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

large  sunken  surface  shaped  like  a  curved 
triangle  and  brownish  in  colour,  with  a  dull- 
yellow  rim.  It  is  a  sort  of  escutcheon,  em- 
blazoned with  heraldic  devices.  On  the 
under  surface  of  the  left  wing-case,  which  is 
folded  over  the  right,  two  transversal, 
parallel  grooves  are  cut.  The  space  between 
them  makes  a  ridge  which  constitutes  the 
bow.  The  latter,  a  brown  spindle,  has  a  set 
of  fine,  very  regular  and  very  numerous 
teeth.  The  mirror  of  the  right  wing-case  is 
almost  circular,  well  framed  and  supplied 
with  a  strong  and  prominent  friction-nervure. 

The  insect  stridulates  in  July  and  August, 
in  the  evening  twilight,  until  close  upon  ten 
o'clock.  It  produces  a  quick,  rattling  noise, 
accompanied  by  a  faint  metallic  clicking 
which  barely  passes  the  border  of  perceptible 
sounds.  The  abdomen,  considerably  low- 
ered, throbs  and  beats  the  measure.  This 
goes  on  for  irregular  periods  and  suddenly 
ceases;  in  between  these  periods  there  are 
false  starts  reduced  to  a  few  strokes  of  the 
bow;  there  are  pauses  and  then  the  stridula- 
tion  is  once  more  in  full  swing. 

All  said,  it  is  a  very  meagre  performance, 
greatly  inferior  in  volume  to  that  of  the  Dec- 
ticus,  not  to  be  compared  with  the  song  of 
264 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

the  Cricket  and  even  less  with  the  harsh  and 
noisy  efforts  of  the  Cicada.  In  the  quiet  of 
the  evening,  when  only  a  few  steps  away,  I 
need  little  Paul's  delicate  ear  to  apprise  me 
of  it. 

It  is  poorer  still  in  the  two  dwarf  Dectici 
of  my  neighbourhood,  Platycleis  intermedia, 
SERV.,  and  P.  grisea,  FAB.,  both  of  whom  are 
common  in  the  long  grass,  where  the  ground 
is  stony  and  exposed  to  the  sun,  and  quick  to 
disappear  in  the  undergrowth  when  you  try 
to  catch  them.  These  two  fat  songsters  have 
each  had  the  doubtful  privilege  of  a  place  in 
my  cages. 

Here,  in  a  blazing  sun  beating  straight 
upon  the  window,  are  my  little  Dectici 
crammed  with  green  millet-seeds  and  also 
with  game.  Most  of  them  are  lying  in  the 
hottest  places,  on  their  bellies  or  sides,  with 
their  hind-legs  outstretched.  For  hours  on 
end  they  digest  without  moving  and  slumber 
in  their  voluptuous  attitude.  Some  of  them 
sing.  Oh,  what  a  feeble  song! 

The  ditty  of  the  Intermediary  Decticus, 
with  its  strophes  and  pauses  alternating  at 
equal  intervals,  is  a  rapid  fr-r-r-r  similar  to 
the  Coaltit's,  while  that  of  the  Grey  Decticus 
consists  of  distinct  strokes  of  the  bow  and 
265 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

tends  to  copy  the  Cricket's  melody,  with  a 
note  which  is  hoarser  and,  in  particular, 
much  fainter.  In  both  cases,  the  feebleness 
of  the  sound  hardly  allows  me  to  hear  the 
singer  a  couple  of  yards  away. 

And  to  produce  this  music,  this  insig- 
nificant and  only  just  perceptible  refrain,  the 
two  dwarfs  have  all  that  their  big  cousin 
possesses:  a  toothed  bow,  a  tambourine,  a 
friction-nervure.  On  the  bow  of  the  Grey 
Decticus  I  count  about  forty  teeth  and 
eighty  on  that  of  the  Intermediary  Decticus. 
Moreover,  in  both,  the  right  wing-case  dis- 
plays, around  the  mirror,  a  few  diaphanous 
spaces,  intended  no  doubt  to  increase  the 
extent  of  the  vibrating  portion.  It  makes  no 
difference:  though  the  instrument  is  mag- 
nificent, the  production  of  sound  is  very  poor. 

With  this  same  mechanism  of  a  drum  and 
file,  which  of  them  will  achieve  any  progress? 
Not  one  of  the  large-winged  Locustidae  suc- 
ceeds in  doing  so.  All,  from  the  biggest,  the 
Grasshoppers,  Dectici  and  Conocephali, 
down  to  the  smallest,  the  Platycleis,  Xiphi- 
dion  and  Phaneropteron,  set  in  motion  with 
the  teeth  of  a  bow  the  frame  of  a  vibrating- 
mirror;  all  are,  so  to  speak,  left-handed,  that 
is  to  say,  they  carry  the  bow  on  the  lower 
266 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

surface  of  the  left  wing-case,  overlapping 
the  right,  which  is  furnished  with  the 
tympanum;  all,  lastly,  have  a  thin,  faint  trill 
which  is  sometimes  hardly  perceptible. 

One  alcne,  modifying  the  details  of  the 
apparatus  without  introducing  any  innovation 
into  the  general  structure,  achieves  a  certain 
power  of  sound.  This  is  the  Vine  Ephip- 
piger,  who  does  without  wings  and  reduces 
his  wing-cases  to  two  concave  scales,  ele- 
gantly fluted  and  fitting  one  into  the  other. 
These  two  disks  are  all  that  remains  of  the 
organs  of  flight,  which  have  become  ex- 
clusively organs  of  song.  The  insect  aban- 
dons flying  to  devote  itself  the  better  to 
stridulation. 

It  shelters  its  instrument  under  a  sort  of 
dome  formed  by  the  corselet,  which  is  curved 
saddlewise.  As  usual,  the  left  scale  occupies 
the  upper  position  and  bears  on  its  lower 
surface  a  file  in  which  we  can  distinguish  with 
the  lens  eighty  transversal  denticulations, 
more  powerful  and  more  clearly  cut  than 
those  possessed  by  any  other  of  the  Grass- 
hopper tribe.  The  right  scale  is  underneath. 
At  the  top  of  its  slightly  flattened  dome,  the 
mirror  gleams,  framed  in  a  strong  nervure. 

For  elegance  of  structure,  this  instrument 
267 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

is  superior  to  the  Cicada's,  in  which  the  con- 
traction of  two  columns  of  muscles  alternately 
pulls  in  and  lets  out  the  convex  surface  of 
two  barren  cymbals.  It  needs  sound- 
chambers,  resonators,  to  become  a  noisy  ap- 
paratus. As  things  are,  it  emits  a  lingering 
and  plaintive  tchi-i-i,  tchi-i-i,  tchi-i-i,  in  a 
minor  key,  which  is  heard  even  farther 
than  the  blithe  bowing  of  the  White-faced 
Decticus. 

When  disturbed  in  their  repose,  the  Dec- 
ticus and  the  other  Grasshoppers  at  once 
become  silent,  struck  dumb  with  fear.  With 
them,  singing  invariably  expresses  gladness. 
The  Ephippiger  also  dreads  to  be  disturbed 
and  baffles  with  his  sudden  silence  whoso 
seeks  to  find  him.  But  take  him  between 
your  fingers.  Often  he  will  resume  his 
stridulation  with  erratic  strokes  of  the  bow. 
At  such  times  the  song  denotes  anything  but 
happiness,  fear  rather  and  all  the  anguish  of 
danger.  The  Cicada  likewise  rattles  more 
shrilly  than  ever  when  a  ruthless  child  dis- 
locates his  abdomen  and  forces  open  his 
chapels.  In  both  cases,  the  gay  refrain  of 
the  mirthful  insect  turns  into  the  lamentation 
of  a  persecuted  victim. 

A  second  peculiarity  of  the  Ephippiger's, 
268 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

unknown  to  the  other  singing  insects,  is 
worthy  of  remark.  Both  sexes  are  endowed 
with  the  sound-producing  apparatus.  The 
female,  who,  in  the  other  Grasshoppers, 
is  always  dumb,  with  not  even  a  vestige  of 
bow  or  mirror,  acquires  in  this  instance 
a  musical  instrument  which  is  a  close  copy  of 
the  male's. 

The  left  scale  covers  the  right.  Its  edges 
are  fluted  with  thick,  pale  nervures,  forming 
a  fine-meshed  network;  the  centre,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  smooth  and  swells  into  an 
amber-coloured  dome.  Underneath,  this 
dome  is  supplied  with  two  concurrent  ner- 
vures, the  chief  of  which  is  slightly  wrinkled 
on  its  ridge.  The  right  scale  is  similarly 
constructed,  but  for  one  detail:  the  central 
dome,  which  also  is  amber-coloured,  is 
traversed  by  a  nervure  which  describes  a  sort 
of  sinuous  line  and  which,  under  the  mag- 
nifying-glass,  reveals  very  fine  transversal 
teeth  throughout  the  greater  part  of  its 
length. 

This  feature  betrays  the  bow,  placed  in 
the  inverse  position  to  that  which  is  known 
to  us.  The  male  is  left-handed  and  works 
with  his  upper  wing-case;  the  female  is  right- 
handed  and  scrapes  with  her  lower  wing- 
269 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

case.  Besides,  with  her,  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  mirror,  that  is  to  say,  no  shiny 
membrane  resembling  a  flake  of  mica.  The 
bow  rubs  across  the  rough  vein  of  the  oppo- 
site scale  and  in  this  way  produces  simul- 
taneous vibration  in  the  two  fitted  spherical 
domes. 

The  vibrating  part  is  double,  therefore, 
but  too  stiff  and  clumsy  to  produce  a  sound 
of  any  depth.  The  song,  in  any  case  rather 
thin,  is  even  more  plaintive  than  the  male's. 
The  insect  is  not  lavish  with  it.  If  I  do  not 
interfere,  my  captives  never  add  their  note 
to  the  concert  of  their  caged  companions;  on 
the  other  hand,  when  seized  and  worried, 
they  utter  a  moan  at  once.  It  seems  likely 
that,  in  a  state  of  liberty,  things  happen 
otherwise.  The  dumb  beauties  in  my  bell- 
jars  are  not  for  nothing  endowed  with  a 
double  cymbal  and  a  bow.  The  instrument 
that  moans  with  fright  must  also  ring  out 
joyously  on  occasion. 

What  purpose  is  served  by  the  Grasshop- 
per's sound-apparatus?  I  will  not  go  so  far 
as  to  refuse  it  a  part  in  the  pairing,  or  to 
deny  it  a  persuasive  murmur,  sweet  to  her 
who  hears  it:  that  would  be  flying  in  the 
face  of  the  evidence.  But  this  is  not  its  prin- 
270 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

cipal  function.  Before  anything  else,  the 
insect  uses  it  to  express  its  joy  in  living,  to 
sing  the  delights  of  existence  with  a  belly 
well  filled  and  a  back  warmed  by  the  sun, 
as  witness  the  big  Decticus  and  the  male 
Grasshopper,  who,  after  the  wedding,  ex- 
hausted for  good  and  all  and  taking  no  fur- 
ther interest  in  pairing,  continue  to  stridu- 
late  merrily  as  long  as  their  strength  holds 
out. 

The  Grasshopper  tribe  has  its  bursts  of 
gladness;  it  has  moreover  the  advantage  of 
being  able  to  express  them  with  a  sound,  the 
simple  satisfaction  of  the  artist.  The  little 
journeyman  whom  I  see  in  the  evening  re- 
turning from  the  workyard  on  his  way  home, 
where  his  supper  awaits  him,  whistles  and 
sings  for  his  own  pleasure,  with  no  intention 
of  making  himself  heard,  nor  any  wish  to 
attract  an  audience.  In  his  artless  and 
almost  unconscious  fashion,  he  tells  the  joys 
of  a  hard  day's  work  done  and  of  his  plate- 
ful of  steaming  cabbage.  Even  so  most 
often  does  the  singing  insect  stridulate :  it  is 
celebrating  life. 

Some  go  farther.  If  existence  has  its 
sweets,  it  also  has  its  sorrows.  The  saddle- 
bearing  Grasshopper  of  the  vines  is  able  to 
271 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

translate  both  of  these  into  sound.  In  a 
trailing  melody,  he  sings  to  the  bushes  of  his 
happiness;  in  a  like  melody,  hardly  altered, 
he  pours  forth  his  griefs  and  his  fears.  His 
mate,  herself  an  instrumentalist,  shares  this 
privilege.  She  exults  and  laments  with  two 
cymbals  of  another  pattern. 

When  all  is  said,  the  cogged  drum  need 
not  be  looked  down  upon.  It  enlivens  the 
lawns,  murmurs  the  joys  and  tribulations  of 
existence,  sends  the  lover's  call  echoing  all 
around,  brightens  the  weary  waiting  of  the 
lonely  ones,  tells  of  the  perfect  blossoming 
of  insect  life.  Its  stroke  of  the  bow  is  almost 
a  voice. 

And  this  magnificent  gift,  so  full  of 
promise,  is  granted  only  to  the  inferior  races, 
coarse  natures,  near  akin  to  the  crude  begin- 
nings of  the  carboniferous  period.  If,  as  we 
are  told,  the  superior  insect  descends  from 
ancestors  who  have  been  gradually  trans- 
formed, why  did  it  not  preserve  that  fine  in- 
heritance of  a  voice  which  has  sounded  from 
the  earliest  ages? 

Can  it  be  that  the  theory  of  progressive 

acquirements  is  only  a  specious  lure  ?     Are 

we   to   abandon   the   savage   theory  of  the 

crushing  of  the  weak  by  the  strong,  of  the 

27? 


The  Decticus:  his  Instrument 

less  well-endowed  by  their  more  highly-gifted 
rivals?  Is  it  permissible  to  doubt,  when  the 
evolutionists  talk  to  us  of  the  survival  of 
the  fittest?  Yes,  indeed  it  is ! 

We  are  told  as  much  by  a  certain  Libellu- 
la  of  the  carboniferous  age  (Meganeura 
Monyi,  BRONG.),  measuring  over  two  feet 
across  the  wings.  The  giant  Dragon-fly, 
who  terrified  the  small  winged  folk  with  her 
sawlike  mandibles,  has  disappeared,  whereas 
the  puny  Agrion,  with  her  bronze  or  azure 
abdomen,  still  hovers  over  the  reeds  of  our 
rivers. 

So  have  her  contemporaries  disappeared, 
the  monstrous  sauroid  fishes,  mailed  in 
enamel  and  armed  to  the  teeth.  Their 
scarce  successors  are  mere  abortions.  The 
splendid  series  of  Cephalopods  with  parti- 
tioned shells,  including  certain  Ammonites  of 
the  diameter  of  a  cartwheel,  has  no  other 
representative  in  our  present  seas  than  that 
modest  fireman's  helmet,  the  Nautilus.  The 
Megalosaurus,  a  saurian  twenty-five  yards 
long,  was  a  more  alarming  figure  in  our 
country-sides  than  the  Grey  Lizard  of  the 
walls.  One  of  man's  contemporaries,  that 
monumental  beast  the  Mammoth,  is  known 
only  by  his  remains;  and  his  near  kinsman 
273 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  Elephant,  a  mere  Sheep  beside  him,  goes 
on  prospering.  What  a  shock  to  the  law  of 
the  survival  of  the  strongest!  The  mighty 
have  gone  under;  and  the  weak  fill  their 
place. 


274 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   GREEN  GRASSHOPPER 

WE   are   in   the   middle   of   July.     The 
astronomical  dog-days  are  just  begin- 
ning; but  in  reality  the  torrid  season  has 
anticipated  the  calendar  and  for  some  weeks 
past  the  heat  has  been  overpowering. 

This  evening  in  the  village  they  are  cele- 
brating the  National  Festival.1  While  the 
little  boys  and  girls  are  hopping  around  a 
bonfire  whose  gleams  are  reflected  upon  the 
church-steeple,  while  the  drum  is  pounded 
to  mark  the  ascent  of  each  rocket,  I  am  sit- 
ting alone  in  a  dark  corner,  in  the  compara- 
tive coolness  that  prevails  at  nine  o'clock, 
harking  to  the  concert  of  the  festival  of  the 
fields,  the  festival  of  the  harvest,  grander  by 
far  than  that  which,  at  this  moment,  is  being 
celebrated  in  the  village  square  with  gun- 
powder, lighted  torches,  Chinese  lanterns 

1  The  i4th  of  July,  the  anniversary  of  the  fall  of  the 
Bastille. — Translator's  Note. 

275 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

and,  above  all,  strong  drink.  It  has  the  sim- 
plicity of  beauty  and  the  repose  of  strength. 

It  is  late;  and  the  Cicadae  are  silent. 
Glutted  with  light  and  heat,  they  have  in- 
dulged in  symphonies  all  the  livelong  day. 
The  advent  of  the  night  means  rest  for  them, 
but  a  rest  frequently  disturbed.  In  the  dense 
branches  of  the  plane-trees,  a  sudden  sound 
rings  out  like  a  cry  of  anguish,  strident  and 
short.  It  is  the  desperate  wail  of  the  Cicada, 
surprised  in  his  quietude  by  the  Green  Grass- 
hopper, that  ardent  nocturnal  huntress,  who 
springs  upon  him,  grips  him  in  the  side, 
opens  and  ransacks  his  abdomen.  An  orgy 
of  music,  followed  by  butchery. 

I  have  never  seen  and  never  shall  see  that 
supreme  expression  of  our  national  revelry, 
the  military  review  at  Longchamp;  nor 
do  I  much  regret  it.  The  newspapers  tell 
me  as  much  about  it  as  I  want  to  know. 
They  give  me  a  sketch  of  the  site.  I  see, 
installed  here  and  there  amid  the  trees,  the 
ominous  Red  Cross,  with  the  legend,  "  Mili- 
tary Ambulance;  Civil  Ambulance."  There 
will  be  bones  broken,  apparently;  cases  of 
sunstroke;  regrettable  deaths,  perhaps.  It 
is  all  provided  for  and  all  in  the  programme. 

Even  here,  in  my  village,  usually  so  peace- 
276 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

able,  the  festival  will  not  end,  I  am  ready  to 
wager,  without  the  exchange  of  a  few  blows, 
that  compulsory  seasoning  of  a  day  of  merry- 
making. No  pleasure,  it  appears,  can  be 
fully  relished  without  an  added  condiment  of 
pain. 

Let  us  listen  and  meditate  far  from  the 
tumult.  While  the  disembowelled  Cicada 
utters  his  protest,  the  festival  up  there  in  the 
plane-trees  is  continued  with  a  change  of 
orchestra.  It  is  now  the  time  of  the  noc- 
turnal performers.  Hard  by  the  place  of 
slaughter,  in  the  green  bushes,  a  delicate  ear 
perceives  the  hum  of  the  Grasshoppers.  It 
is  the  sort  of  noise  that  a  spinning-wheel 
makes,  a  very  unobtrusive  sound,  a  vague 
rustle  of  dry  membranes  rubbed  together. 
Above  this  dull  bass  there  rises,  at  intervals, 
a  hurried,  very  shrill,  almost  metallic  click- 
ing. There  you  have  the  air  and  the  recita- 
tive, intersected  by  pauses.  The  rest  is  the 
accompaniment. 

Despite  the  assistance  of  a  bass,  it  is  a 
poor  concert,  very  poor  indeed,  though  there 
are  about  ten  executants  in  my  immediate 
vicinity.  The  tone  lacks  intensity.  My  old 
tympanum  is  not  always  capable  of  perceiv- 
ing these  subtleties  of  sound.  The  little  that 
277 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

reaches  me  is  extremely  sweet  and  most  ap- 
propriate to  the  calm  of  twilight.  Just  a 
little  more  breadth  in  your  bow-stroke,  my 
dear  Green  Grasshopper,  and  your  technique 
would  be  better  than  the  hoarse  Cicada's, 
whose  name  and  reputation  you  have  been 
made  to  usurp  in  the  countries  of  the  north. 

Still,  you  will  never  equal  your  neighbour, 
the  little  bell-ringing  Toad,  who  goes  tinkling 
all  round,  at  the  foot  of  the  plane-trees,  while 
you  click  up  above.  He  is  the  smallest  of 
my  batrachian  folk  and  the  most  venture- 
some in  his  expeditions. 

How  often,  at  nightfall,  by  the  last  glim- 
mers of  daylight,  have  I  not  come  upon  him 
as  I  wandered  through  my  garden,  hunting 
for  ideas!  Something  runs  away,  rolling 
over  and  over  in  front  of  me.  Is  it  a  dead 
leaf  blown  along  by  the  wind?  No,  it  is  the 
pretty  little  Toad  disturbed  in  the  midst  of 
his  pilgrimage.  He  hurriedly  takes  shelter 
under  a  stone,  a  clod  of  earth,  a  tuft  of 
grass,  recovers  from  his  excitement  and 
loses  no  time  in  picking  up  his  liquid  note. 

On   this    evening   of    national    rejoicing, 

there  are  nearly  a  dozen  of  him  tinkling 

against  one  another  around  me.     Most  of 

them    are    crouching   among    the    rows    of 

278 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

flower-pots  that  form  a  sort  of  lobby  outside 
my  house.  Each  has  his  own  note,  always 
the  same,  lower  in  one  case,  higher  in  an- 
other, a  short,  clear  note,  melodious  and  of 
exquisite  purity. 

With  their  slow,  rhythmical  cadence,  they 
seem  to  be  intoning  litanies.  Cluck,  says 
one ;  click,  responds  another,  on  a  finer  note ; 
clock,  adds  a  third,  the  tenor  of  the  band. 
And  this  is  repeated  indefinitely,  like  the 
bells  of  the  village  pealing  on  a  holiday: 
chick,  click,  clock;  cluck,  click,  clock/ 

The  batrachian  choristers  remind  me  of 
a  certain  harmonica  which  I  used  to  covet 
when  my  six-year-old  ear  began  to  awaken 
to  the  magic  of  sounds.  It  consisted  of  a 
series  of  strips  of  glass  of  unequal  length, 
hung  on  two  stretched  tapes.  A  cork  fixed 
to  a  wire  served  as  a  hammer.  Imagine  an 
unskilled  hand  striking  at  random  on  this 
key-board,  with  a  sudden  clash  of  octaves, 
dissonances  and  topsy-turvy  chords;  and 
you  will  have  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  the 
Toads'  litany. 

As  a  song,  this  litany  has  neither  head  nor 

tail  to  it;  as  a  collection  of  pure  sounds,  it 

is  delicious.     This  is  the  case  with  all  the 

music   in   nature's   concerts.     Our   ear   dis- 

279 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

covers  superb  notes  in  it  and  then  becomes 
refined  and  acquires,  outside  the  realities  of 
sound,  that  sense  of  order  which  is  the  first 
condition  of  beauty. 

Now  this  sweet  ringing  of  bells  between 
hiding-place  and  hiding-place  is  the  matri- 
monial oratorio,  the  discreet  summons  which 
every  Jack  issues  to  his  Jill.  The  sequel  to 
the  concert  may  be  guessed  without  further 
enquiry;  but  what  it  would  be  impossible  to 
foresee  is  the  strange  finale  of  the  wedding. 
Behold  the  father,  in  this  case  a  real  pater- 
familias, in  the  noblest  sense  of  the  word, 
coming  out  of  his  retreat  one  day  in  an  un- 
recognizable state.  He  is  carrying  the 
future,  tight-packed  around  his  hind-legs;  he 
is  changing  nouses  laden  with  a  cluster  of 
eggs  the  size  of  pepper-corns.  His  calves 
are  girt,  his  thighs  are  sheathed  with  the 
bulky  burden;  and  it  covers  his  back  like  a 
beggar's  wallet,  completely  deforming  him. 

Whither  is  he  going,  dragging  himself 
along,  incapable  of  jumping,  thanks  to  the 
weight  of  his  load?  He  is  going,  the  fond 
parent,  where  the  mother  refuses  to  go;  he 
is  on  his  way  to  the  nearest  pond,  whose 
warm  waters  are  indispensable  to  the  tad- 
poles' hatching  and  existence.  When  the 
280 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

eggs  are  nicely  ripened  around  his  legs  under 
the  humid  shelter  of  a  stone,  he  braves  the 
damp  and  the  daylight,  he  the  passionate 
lover  of  dry  land  and  darkness;  he  advances 
by  short  stages,  his  lungs  congested  with 
fatigue.  The  pond  is  far  away,  perhaps; 
no  matter :  the  plucky  pilgrim  will  find  it. 

He's  there.  Without  delay,  he  dives, 
despite  his  profound  antipathy  to  bathing; 
and  the  cluster  of  eggs  is  instantly  removed 
by  the  legs  rubbing  against  each  other.  The 
eggs  are  now  in  their  element;  and  the  rest 
will  be  accomplished  of  itself.  Having  ful- 
filled his  obligation  to  go  right  under,  the 
father  hastens  to  return  to  his  well-sheltered 
home.  He  is  scarcely  out  of  sight  before 
the  little  black  tadpoles  are  hatched  and 
playing  about.  They  were  but  waiting  for 
the  contact  of  the  water  in  order  to  burst 
their  shells. 

Among  the  singers  in  the  July  gloaming, 
one  alone,  were  he  able  to  vary  his  notes, 
could  vie  with  the  Toad's  harmonious  bells. 
This  is  the  little  Scops-owl,  that  comely  noc- 
turnal bird  of  prey,  with  the  round  gold  eyes. 
He  sports  on  his  forehead  two  small 
feathered  horns  which  have  won  for  him  in 
the  district  the  name  of  Machoto  banarudo, 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  Horned  Owl.  His  song,  which  is  rich 
enough  to  fill  by  itself  the  still  night  air,  is 
of  a  nerve-shattering  monotony.  With  im- 
perturbable and  measured  regularity,  for 
hours  on  end,  kew,  kew,  the  bird  spits  out 
its  cantata  to  the  moon. 

One  of  them  has  arrived  at  this  moment, 
driven  from  the  plane-trees  in  the  square  by 
the  din  of  the  rejoicings,  to  demand  my  hos- 
pitality. I  can  hear  him  in  the  top  of  a 
cypress  near  by.  From  up  there,  dominating 
the  lyrical  assembly,  at  regular  intervals  he 
cuts  into  the  vague  orchestration  of  the 
Grasshoppers  and  the  Toads. 

His  soft  note  is  contrasted,  intermittently, 
with  a  sort  of  Cat's  mew,  coming  from  an- 
other spot.  This  is  the  call  of  the  Common 
Owl,  the  meditative  bird  of  Minerva.  After 
hiding  all  day  in  the  seclusion  of  a  hollow 
olive-tree,  he  started  on  his  wanderings  when 
the  shades  of  evening  began  to  fall.  Swing- 
ing along  with  a  sinuous  flight,  he  came  from 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  to  the 
pines  in  my  enclosure,  whence  he  mingles  his 
harsh  mewing,  slightly  softened  by  distance, 
with  the  general  concert. 

The  Green  Grasshopper's  clicking  is  too 
faint  to  be  clearly  perceived  amidst  these 
282 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

clamourers;  all  that  reaches  me  is  the  least 
ripple,  just  noticeable  when  there  is  a  mo- 
ment's silence.  He  possesses  as  his  ap- 
paratus of  sound  only  a  modest  drum  and 
scraper,  whereas  they,  more  highly  privi- 
leged, have  their  bellows,  the  lungs,  which 
send  forth  a  column  of  vibrating  air.  There 
is  no  comparison  possible.  Let  us  return  to 
the  insects. 

One  of  these,  though  inferior  in  size  and 
no  less  sparingly  equipped,  greatly  surpasses 
the  Grasshopper  in  nocturnal  rhapsodies. 
I  speak  of  the  pale  and  slender  Italian 
Cricket  (CEcanthus  pellucens,  SCOP.),  who 
is  so  puny  that  you  dare  not  take  him  up 
for  fear  of  crushing  him.  He  makes  music 
everywhere  among  the  rosemary-bushes, 
while  the  Glow-worms  light  up  their  blue 
lamps  to  complete  the  revels.  The  delicate 
instrumentalist  consists  chiefly  of  a  pair  of 
large  wings,  thin  and  gleaming  as  strips  of 
mica.  Thanks  to  these  dry  sails,  he  fiddles 
away  with  an  intensity  capable  of  drowning 
the  Toads'  fugue.  His  performance  sug- 
gests, but  with  more  brilliancy,  more  tremolo 
in  the  execution,  the  song  of  the  Common 
Black  Cricket.  Indeed  the  mistake  would 
certainly  be  made  by  any  one  who  did  not 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

know  that,  by  the  time  that  the  very  hot 
weather  comes,  the  true  Cricket,  the  chorister 
of  spring,  has  disappeared.  His  pleasant 
violin  has  been  succeeded  by  another  more 
pleasant  still  and  worthy  of  special  study. 
We  shall  return  to  him  at  an  opportune 
moment. 

These  then,  limiting  ourselves  to  select 
specimens,  are  the  principal  participants  in 
this  musical  evening:  the  Scops-owl,  with  his 
languorous  solos;  the  Toad,  that  tinkler  of 
sonatas ;  the  Italian  Cricket,  who  scrapes  the 
first  string  of  a  violin ;  and  the  Green  Grass- 
hopper, who  seems  to  beat  a  tiny  steel 
triangle. 

We  are  celebrating  to-day,  with  greater 
uproar  than  conviction,  the  new  era,  dating 
politically  from  the  fall  of  the  Bastille ;  they, 
with  glorious  indifference  to  human  things, 
are  celebrating  the  festival  of  the  sun, 
singing  the  happiness  of  existence,  sounding 
the  loud  hosanna  of  the  July  heats. 

What  care  they  for  man  and  his  fickle 
rejoicings !  For  whom  or  for  what  will  our 
squibs  be  spluttering  a  few  years  hence? 
Far-seeing  indeed  would  he  be  who  could 
answer  the  question.  Fashions  change  and 
bring  us  the  unexpected.  The  time-serving 
284 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

rocket  spreads  its  sheaf  of  sparks  for  the 
public  enemy  of  yesterday,  who  has  become 
the  idol  of  to-day.  To-morrow  it  will  go  up 
for  somebody  else. 

In  a  century  or  two,  will  any  one,  outside 
the  historians,  give  a  thought  to  the  taking 
of  the  Bastille?  It  is  very  doubtful.  We 
shall  have  other  joys  and  also  other  cares. 

Let  us  look  a  little  farther  ahead.  A  day 
will  come,  so  everything  seems  to  tell  us, 
when,  after  making  progress  upon  progress, 
man  will  succumb,  destroyed  by  the  excess  of 
what  he  calls  civilization.  Too  eager  to 
play  the  god,  he  cannot  hope  for  the  animal's 
placid  longevity;  he  will  have  disappeared 
when  the  little  Toad  is  still  saying  his  litany, 
in  company  with  the  Grasshopper,  the  Scops- 
owl  and  the  others.  They  were  singing  on 
this  planet  before  us;  they  will  sing  after  us, 
celebrating  what  can  never  change,  the  fiery 
glory  of  the  sun. 

I  will  dwell  no  longer  on  this  festival  and 
will  become  once  more  the  naturalist,  anxious 
to  obtain  information  concerning  the  private 
life  of  the  insect.  The  Green  Grasshopper 
(Locusta  viridissima,  LIN.)  does  not  appear 
to  be  common  in  my  neighbourhood.  Last 
year,  intending  to  make  a  study  of  this  in- 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

sect  and  finding  my  efforts  to  hunt  it  fruit- 
less, I  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the 
good  offices  of  a  forest-ranger,  who  sent  me 
a  pair  of  couples  from  the  Lagarde  plateau, 
that  bleak  district  where  the  beech-tree  be- 
gins its  escalade  of  the  Ventoux. 

Now  and  then  freakish  fortune  takes  it 
into  her  head  to  smile  upon  the  persevering. 
What  was  not  to  be  found  last  year  has  be- 
come almost  common  this  summer.  Without 
leaving  my  narrow  enclosure,  I  obtain  as 
many  Grasshoppers  as  I  could  wish.  I  hear 
them  rustling  at  night  in  the  green  thickets. 
Let  us  make  the  most  of  the  windfall,  which 
perhaps  will  not  occur  again. 

In  the  month  of  June,  my  treasures  are 
installed,  in  a  sufficient  number  of  couples, 
under  a  wire  cover  standing  on  a  bed  of 
sand  in  an  earthen  pan.  It  is  indeed  a  mag- 
nificent insect,  pale-green  all  over,  with  two 
whitish  stripes  running  down  its  sides.  Its 
imposing  size,  its  slim  proportions  and  its 
great  gauze  wings  make  it  the  most  elegant 
of  our  Locustidae.  I  am  enraptured  with 
my  captives.  What  will  they  teach  me? 
We  shall  see.  For  the  moment,  we  must 
feed  them. 

I  have  here  the  same  difficulty  that  I  had 
286 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

with  the  Decticus.  Influenced  by  the  general 
diet  of  the  Orthoptera,1  those  ruminants  of 
the  greenswards,  I  offer  the  prisoners  a  leaf 
of  lettuce.  They  bite  into  it,  certainly,  but 
very  sparingly  and  with  a  scornful  tooth.  It 
soon  becomes  plain  that  I  am  dealing  with 
half-hearted  vegetarians.  They  want  some- 
thing else :  they  are  beasts  of  prey,  appar- 
ently. But  what  manner  of  prey?  A  lucky 
chance  taught  me. 

At  break  of  day  I  was  pacing  up  and  down 
outside  my  door,  when  something  fell  from 
the  nearest  plane-tree  with  a  shrill  grating 
sound.  I  ran  up  and  saw  a  Grasshopper 
gutting  the  belly  of  an  exhausted  Cicada. 
In  vain  the  victim  buzzed  and  waved  his 
limbs :  the  other  did  not  let  go,  dipping  her 
head  right  into  the  entrails  and  rooting  them 
out  by  small  mouthfuls. 

I  knew  what  I  wanted  to  know :  the  attack 
had  taken  place  up  above,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, while  the  Cicada  was  asleep;  and  the 
plunging  of  the  poor  wretch,  dissected  alive, 
had  made  assailant  and  assailed  fall  in  a 

1  The  order  of  insects  comprising  the  Grasshoppers, 
Locusts,  Crickets,  Cockroaches,  Mantes  and  Earwigs. 
The  Cicada,  with  whom  the  present  volume  opens,  and 
the  Foamy  Cicadella,  with  whom  it  closes,  belong  to  the 
order  of  Homoptera.— Translator's  Note. 
287 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

bundle  to  the  ground.  Since  then  I  have 
repeatedly  had  occasion  to  witness  similar 
carnage. 

I  have  even  seen  the  Grasshopper — the 
height  of  audacity,  this — dart  in  pursuit  of  a 
Cicada  in  mad  flight.  Even  so  does  the 
Sparrow-hawk  pursue  the  Swallow  in  the 
sky.  But  the  bird  of  prey  here  is  inferior 
to  the  insect.  It  attacks  a  weaker  than 
itself.  The  Grasshopper,  on  the  other  hand, 
assaults  a  colossus,  much  larger  than  herself 
and  stronger;  and  nevertheless  the  result  of 
the  unequal  fight  is  not  in  doubt.  The 
Grasshopper  rarely  fails  with  the  sharp 
pliers  of  her  powerful  jaws  to  disembowel 
her  capture,  which,  being  unprovided  with 
weapons,  confines  itself  to  crying  out  and 
kicking. 

The  main  thing  is  to  retain  one's  hold  of 
the  prize,  which  is  not  difficult  in  somnolent 
darkness.  Any  Cicada  encountered  by  the 
fierce  Locustid  on  her  nocturnal  rounds  is 
bound  to  die  a  lamentable  death.  This  ex- 
plains those  sudden  agonized  notes  which 
grate  through  the  woods  at  late,  unseason- 
able hours,  when  the  cymbals  have  long  been 
silent.  The  murderess  in  her  suit  of  apple- 
green  has  pounced  on  some  sleeping  Cicada. 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

My  boarders'  menu  is  settled :  I  will  feed 
them  on  Cicadae.  They  take  such  a  liking 
to  this  fare  that,  in  two  or  three  weeks,  the 
floor  of  the  cage  is  a  knacker's  yard  strewn 
with  heads  and  empty  thoraces,  with  torn-off 
wings  and  disjointed  legs.  The  belly  alone 
disappears  almost  entirely.  This  is  the  tit- 
bit, not  very  substantial,  but  extremely  tasty, 
it  would  seem.  Here,  in  fact,  in  the  insect's 
crop,  the  syrup  is  accumulated,  the  sugary 
sap  which  the  Cicada's  gimlet  taps  from  the 
tender  bark.  Is  it  because  of  this  dainty  that 
the  prey's  abdomen  is  preferred  to  any  other 
morsel  ?  It  is  quite  possible. 

I  do,  in  fact,  with  a  view  to  varying  the 
diet,  decide  to  serve  up  some  very  sweet 
fruits,  slices  of  pear,  grape-pips,  bits  of 
melon.  All  this  meets  with  delighted  appre- 
ciation. The  Green  Grasshopper  resembles 
the  English :  she  dotes  on  underdone  rump- 
steak  seasoned  with  jam.1  This  perhaps  is 


1  The  author  was  obviously  thinking  of  the  English- 
man's saddle  of  mutton  and  red-currant  jelly.  The  mis- 
take has  been  repeated  much  nearer  to  these  shores.  I 
have  in  mind  the  true  story  of  an  Irish  king's  counsel 
singing  the  praises  of  another,  still  among  us,  who  had 
married  an  English  wife  and  who,  in  the  course  of  an 
extensive  practice  in  the  House  of  Lords,  spent  much  of 
his  time  in  England: 

"Ah, is  a  real  gentleman!  He  speaks  with 

289 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

why,  on  catching  the  Cicada,  she  first  rips 
up  his  paunch,  which  supplies  a  mixture  of 
flesh  and  preserves. 

To  eat  Cicadas  and  sugar  is  not  possible 
in  every  part  of  the  country.  In  the  north, 
where  she  abounds,  the  Green  Grasshopper 
would  not  find  the  dish  which  attracts  her 
so  strongly  here.  She  must  have  other  re- 
sources. To  convince  myself  of  this,  I  give 
her  Anoxiae  (A.  pilosa,  FAB.),  the  summer 
equivalent  of  the  spring  Cockchafer.  The 
Beetle  is  accepted  without  hesitation.  No- 
thing is  left  of  him  but  the  wing-cases,  head 
and  legs.  The  result  is  the  same  with  the 
magnificent  plump  Pine  Cockchafer  (Melo- 
lontha  fullo,  LIN.),  a  sumptuous  morsel 
which  I  find  next  day  eviscerated  by  my  gang 
of  knackers. 

These  examples  teach  us  enough.  They 
tell  us  that  the  Grasshopper  is  an  inveterate 
consumer  of  insects,  especially  of  those 
which  are  not  protected  by  too  hard  a 
cuirass;  they  are  evidence  of  tastes  which 

an  English  accent,  quotes  Euripides  in  the  original  Latin 
and  takes  jam  with  his  meat." 

I  venture  to  think  that  Fabre,  in  the  gentleness  of  his 
heart,  would  have  forgiven  his  translator  for  quoting 
this  flippant  anecdote.  I  have  no  other  excuse. — Trans- 
lator's Note. 

290 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

are  highly  carnivorous,  but  not  exclusively 
so,  like  those  of  the  Praying  Mantis,  who 
refuses  everything  except  game.  The 
butcher  of  the  Cicadae  is  able  to  modify  an 
excessively  heating  diet  with  vegetable  fare. 
After  meat  and  blood,  sugary  fruit-pulp; 
sometimes  even,  for  lack  of  anything  better, 
a  little  green  stuff. 

Nevertheless,  cannibalism  is  prevalent. 
True,  I  never  witness  in  my  Grasshopper- 
cages  the  savagery  which  is  so  common  in 
the  Praying  Mantis,  who  harpoons  her 
rivals  and  devours  her  lovers;  but,  if  some 
weakling  succumb,  the  survivors  hardly  ever 
fail  to  profit  by  his  carcass  as  they  would  in 
the  case  of  any  ordinary  prey.  With  no 
scarcity  of  provisions  as  an  excuse,  they  feast 
upon  their  defunct  companion.  For  the  rest, 
all  the  sabre-bearing  clan  display,  in  varying 
degrees,  a  propensity  for  filling  their  bellies 
with  their  maimed  comrades. 

In  other  respects,  the  Grasshoppers  live 
together  very  peacefully  in  my  cages.  No 
serious  strife  ever  takes  place  among  them, 
nothing  beyond  a  little  rivalry  in  the  matter 
of  food.  I  hand  in  a  piece  of  pear.  A 
Grasshopper  alights  on  it  at  once.  Jealously 
she  kicks  away  any  one  trying  to  bite  at  the 
291 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

delicious  morsel.  Selfishness  reigns  every- 
where. When  she  has  eaten  her  fill,  she 
makes  way  for  another,  who  in  her  turn 
becomes  intolerant.  One  after  the  other,  all 
the  inmates  of  the  menagerie  come  and  re- 
fresh themselves.  After  cramming  their 
crops,  they  scratch  the  soles  of  their  feet 
a  little  with  their  mandibles,  polish  up  their 
forehead  and  eyes  with  a  leg  moistened  with 
spittle  and  then,  hanging  to  the  trelliswork 
or  lying  on  the  sand  in  a  posture  of  con- 
templation, blissfully  they  digest  and  slum- 
ber most  of  the  day,  especially  during  the 
hottest  part  of  it. 

It  is  in  the  evening,  after  sunset,  that  the 
troop  becomes  lively.  By  nine  o'clock  the 
animation  is  at  its  height.  With  sudden 
rushes  they  clamber  to  the  top  of  the  dome, 
to  descend  as  hurriedly  and  climb  up  once 
more.  They  come  and  go  tumultuously,  run 
and  hop  around  the  circular  track  and,  with- 
out stopping,  nibble  at  the  good  things  on 
the  way. 

The  males  are  stridulating  by  themselves, 
here  and  there,  teasing  the  passing  fair  with 
their  antennae.  The  future  mothers  stroll 
about  gravely,  with  their  sabre  half-raised. 
The  agitation  and  feverish  excitement  means 
292 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

that  the  great  business  of  pairing  is  at  hand. 
The  fact  will  escape  no  practised  eye: 

It  is  also  what  I  particularly  wish  to  ob- 
serve. My  chief  object  in  stocking  my  cages 
was  to  discover  how  far  the  strange  nuptial 
manners  revealed  by  the  White-faced  Dec- 
ticus  might  be  regarded  as  general.  My  wish 
is  satisfied,  but  not  fully,  for  the  late  hours 
at  which  events  take  place  did  not  allow  me 
to  witness  the  final  act  of  the  wedding.  It 
is  late  at  night  or  early  in  the  morning  that 
things  happen. 

The  little  that  I  see  is  confined  to 
interminable  preludes.  Standing  face  to 
face,  with  foreheads  almost  touching,  the 
lovers  feel  and  sound  each  other  for  a  long 
time  with  their  limp  antennae.  They  suggest 
two  fencers  crossing  and  recrossing  harmless 
foils.  From  time  to  time,  the  male  stridu- 
lates  a  little,  gives  a  few  short  strokes  of  the 
bow  and  then  falls  silent,  feeling  perhaps 
too  much  overcome  to  continue.  Eleven 
o'clock  strikes ;  and  the  declaration  is  not  yet 
over.  Very  regretfully,  but  conquered  by 
sleepiness,  I  quit  the  couple. 

Next  morning,  early,  the  female  carries, 
hanging  at  the  bottom  of  her  ovipositor,  the 
queer  bladderlike  arrangement  that  surprised 
293 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

us  so  much  in  the  Decticus.  It  is  an  opaline 
capsule,  the  size  of  a  large  pea  and  roughly 
subdivided  into  a  small  number  of  egg- 
shaped  vesicles.  When  the  Grasshopper 
walks,  the  thing  scrapes  along  the  ground 
and  becomes  dirty  with  sticky  grains  of  sand. 

The  final  banquet  of  the  female  Decticus 
is  seen  again  here  in  all  its  hideousness. 
When,  after  a  couple  of  hours,  the  fertilizing 
capsule  is  drained  of  its  conte'nts,  the  Grass- 
hopper devours  it  bit  by  bit;  for  a  long  time 
she  chews  and  rechews  the  gummy  morsel 
and  ends  by  swallowing  it  all  down.  In  less 
than  half  a  day,  the  milky  burden  has  dis- 
appeared, consumed  with  zest  down  to  the 
last  atom. 

The  inconceivable  therefore,  imported, 
one  would  think,  from  another  planet,  so 
far  removed  is  it  from  earthly  habits,  reap- 
pears with  no  noticeable  variation  in  the 
Grasshopper,  following  on  the  Decticus. 
What  singular  folk  are  the  Locustidae,  one 
of  the  oldest  races  in  the  animal  kingdom 
on  dry  land!  It  seems  probable  that  these 
eccentricities  are  the  rule  throughout  the 
order.  Let  us  consult  another  sabre-bearer. 

I  select  the  Ephippiger  (Ephippigera 
vitium,  SERV.),  who  is  so  easy  to  rear  on 
294 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

bits  of  pear  and  lettuce-leaves.  It  is  in  July 
and  August  that  things  happen.  A  little 
way  off,  the  male  is  stridulating  by  himself. 
His  ardent  bow-strokes  set  his  whole  body 
quivering.  Then  he  stops.  Little  by  little, 
with  slow  and  almost  ceremonious  steps,  the 
caller  and  the  called  come  closer  together. 
They  stand  face  to  face,  both  silent,  both 
stationary,  their  antennas  gently  swaying, 
their  fore-legs  raised  awkwardly  and  giving 
a  sort  of  handshake  at  intervals.  The 
peaceful  interview  lasts  for  hours.  What 
do  they  say  to  each  other?  What  vows  do 
they  exchange?  What  does  their  ogling 
mean? 

But  the  moment  has  not  yet  come.  They 
separate,  they  fall  out  and  each  goes  his  own 
way.  The  coolness  does  not  last  long.  Here 
they  are  together  again.  The  tender  declara- 
tions are  resumed,  with  no  more  success  than 
before.  At  last,  on  the  third  day,  I  behold 
the  end  of  the  preliminaries.  The  male  slips 
discreetly  under  his  companion,  backwards, 
according  to  the  immemorial  laws  and  cus- 
toms of  the  Crickets.  Stretched  out  behind 
and  lying  on  his  back,  he  clings  to  the  ovi- 
positor, his  prop.  The  pairing  is  accom- 
plished. 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

The  result  is  an  enormous  spermatophore, 
a  sort  of  opalescent  raspberry  with  large 
seeds.  Its  colour  and  shape  remind  one  of 
a  cluster  of  Snail's-eggs.  I  remember  seeing 
the  same  effect  once  with  a  Decticus,  but  in 
a  less  striking  form;  and  I  find  it  again  in 
the  Green  Grasshopper's  spermatophore.  A 
thin  median  groove  divides  the  whole  into 
two  symmetrical  bunches,  each  comprising 
seven  or  eight  spherules.  The  two  nodes 
situated  right  and  left  of  the  bottom  of  the 
ovipositor  are  more  transparent  than  the 
others  and  contain  a  bright  orange-red 
kernel.  The  whole  thing  is  attached  by  a 
wide  pedicle,  a  dab  of  sticky  jelly. 

As  soon  as  the  thing  is  placed  in  position, 
the  shrunken  male  flees  and  goes  to  recruit, 
after  his  disastrous  prowess,  on  a  slice  of 
pear.  The  other,  not  at  all  troubled  in  spite 
of  her  heavy  load,  wanders  about  on  the 
trelliswork  of  the  cage,  taking  very  short 
steps  as  she  slightly  raises  her  raspberry,  this 
enormous  burden,  equal  in  bulk  to  half  the 
creature's  abdomen. 

Two  or  three  hours  pass  in  this  way. 
Then  the  Ephippiger  curves  herself  into  a 
ring  and  with  her  mandibles  picks  off  part- 
icles of  the  nippled  capsule,  without  burst- 
296 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

ing  it,  of  course,  or  allowing  the  contents  to 
flow  forth.  She  strips  its  surface  by  remov- 
ing tiny  shreds,  which  she  chews  in  a  lei- 
surely fashion  and  swallows.  This  fastidi- 
ous consuming  by  atoms  is  continued  for  a 
whole  afternoon.  Next  day  the  raspberry 
has  disappeared;  the  whole  of  it  has  been 
gulped  down  during  the  night. 

At  other  times  the  end  is  less  quick  and, 
above  all,  less  repulsive.  I  have  kept  a  note 
of  an  Ephippiger  who  was  dragging  her 
satchel  along  the  ground  and  nibbling  at  it 
from  time  to  time.  The  soil  is  uneven  and 
rugged,  having  been  recently  turned  over 
with  the  blade  of  a  knife.  The  raspberry- 
like  capsule  picks  up  grains  of  sand  and  little 
clods  of  earth,  which  increase  the  weight  of 
the  load  considerably,  though  the  insect  ap- 
pears to  pay  no  heed  to  it.  Sometimes  the 
carting  becomes  laborious,  because  the  load 
sticks  to  some  bit  of  earth  that  refuses  to 
move.  In  spite  of  the  efforts  made  to  re- 
lease the  thing,  it  does  not  become  detached 
from  the  point  where  it  hangs  under  the 
ovipositor,  thus  proving  that  it  possesses  no 
small  power  of  adhesion. 

All  through  the  evening,  the  Ephippiger 
roams  about  aimlessly,  now  on  the  wire- 
297 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

work,  anon  on  the  ground,  wearing  a  preoc- 
cupied air.  Oftener  still  she  stands  without 
moving.  The  capsule  withers  a  little,  but 
does  not  decrease  notably  in  volume.  There 
are  no  more  of  those  mouthfuls  which  the 
Ephippiger  snatched  at  the  beginning;  and 
the  little  that  has  already  been  removed 
affects  only  the  surface. 

Next  day,  things  are  as  they  were.  There 
is  nothing  new,  nor  on  the  morrow  either, 
save  that  the  capsule  withers  still  more, 
though  its  two  red  dots  remain  almost  as 
bright  as  at  first.  Finally,  after  sticking  on 
for  forty-eight  hours,  the  whole  thing  comes 
off  without  the  insect's  intervention. 

The  capsule  has  yielded  its  contents.  It 
is  a  dried-up  wreck,  shrivelled  beyond  recog- 
nition, left  lying  in  the  gutter  and  doomed 
sooner  or  later  to  become  the  booty  of  the 
Ants.  Why  is  it  thus  abandoned  when,  in 
other  cases,  I  have  seen  the  Ephippiger  so 
greedy  for  the  morsel?  Perhaps  because  the 
nuptial  dish  had  become  too  gritty  with 
grains  of  sand,  so  unpleasant  to  the  teeth. 

Another  Locustid,  the  Phaneroptera  who 
carries  a  short  yataghan  bent  into  a  reaping- 
hook  (P.  falcata,  SCOP.),  has  made  up  to  me 
in  part  for  my  stud  troubles.  Repeatedly, 
298 


The  Green  Grasshopper 

but  always  under  conditions  which  did  not 
allow  of  completing  my  observation,  I  have 
caught  her  carrying  the  fertilizing-concern 
under  the  base  of  her  sabre.  It  is  a  dia- 
phanous, oval  phial,  measuring  three  or  four 
millimetres *  and  hanging  from  a  crystal 
thread,  a  neck  almost  as  long  as  the  dis- 
tended part.  The  insect  does  not  touch  it, 
but  leaves  the  phial  to  dry  up  and  shrivel 
where  it  is.2 

Let  us  be  content  with  this.  These  five 
examples,  furnished  by  such  different  genera, 
Decticus,  Analota,  Grasshopper,  Ephippiger 
and  Phaneroptera,  prove  that  the  Locustid, 
like  the  Scolopendra  and  the  Cephalopod, 
is  a  belated  representative  of  the  manners 
of  antiquity,  a  valuable  specimen  of  the 
genetic  eccentricities  of  olden  times. 

1  .117  to  .156  inch. — Translator's  Note. 

*  Fuller  details  on  this  curious  subject  would  be  out  of 
place  in  a  book  in  which  anatomy  and  physiology  cannot 
always  speak  quite  freely.  They  will  be  found  in  my 
essay  on  the  Locustidae  which  appeared  in  the  Annales 
des  sciences  naturelles,  1896. — Author's  Note. 


299 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   CRICKET:   THE   BURROW;   THE   EGG 

ALMOST  as  famous  as  the  Cicada,  the 
•**•  Field  Cricket,  the  denizen  of  the 
greenswards,  figures  among  the  limited  but 
glorious  number  of  the  classic  insects.  He 
owes  this  honour  to  his  song  and  his  house. 
One  thing  alone  is  lacking  to  complete  his 
renown.  By  a  regrettable  omission,  the 
master  of  the  art  of  making  animals  talk 
gives  him  hardly  two  lines. 

In  one  of  his  fables  he  shows  us  the  Hare 
seized  with  terror  at  the  sight  of  his  ears, 
which  scandalmongers  will  not  fail  to  de- 
scribe as  horns  at  a  time  when  to  be  horned 
is  dangerous.  The  prudent  animal  packs  up 
his  traps  and  makes  off : 

"Adieu,  voisin   Grillon,"  dit-ll;  " je  pars 

d'ici; 

"  Mes  oreilles  enfin  seraient  comes  aussi." 
300 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 
The  Cricket  answers : 

"  Comes    celaf     Vous    me     prenez    pour 

cruchef 
"  Ce  sont  oreilles  que  Dieu  fit" 

The  Hare  insists : 
"  On  les  fera  passer  pour  comes."  1 

And  that  is  all.  What  a  pity  that  La  Fon- 
taine did  not  make  the  insect  hold  forth  at 
greater  length!  The  good-natured  Cricket 
is  depicted  for  us  in  a  couple  of  lines 
which  already  show  the  master's  touch.  No, 
indeed,  he  is  no  fool :  his  big  head  might 
have  found  some  capital  things  to  say.  And 
yet  the  Hare  was  perhaps  not  wrong  to  take 
his  departure  in  a  hurry.  When  slander  is 
at  your  heels,  the  best  thing  is  to  fly. 

1"Fare   thee   well,   good   neighbour   Cricket;    from   thy 

presence  I  must  flee; 
"Mine  ears  also  will  be  taken  for  a  pair  of  horns," 

said  he. 
"  Horns,    i'    faith ! "    the    Cricket    answered.      "  Is    thy 

servant  mad  or  blind? 
"  Those    are    ears   which   thy   Creator   with    His    own 

hand  hath  designed!  " 
"  Yet  the   world  will   one   day  call   them  horns,"   his 

fellow  made  reply, 
"  And  ere  that  day  dawn,  my  neighbour,  I  will  bid 

this  place  good-bye." 

301 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Florian *  was  less  concise  in  his  story, 
which  is  on  another  theme;  but  what  a  long 
way  we  are  from  the  warmth  and  vigour  of 
old  La  Fontaine!  In  Florian's  fable  Le 
Grillon,  there  are  plenty  of  flowery  mead- 
ows and  blue  skies;  Dame  Nature  and  af- 
fectation go  hand  in  hand;  in  short,  we  have 
the  feeble  artificialities  of  a  lifeless  rhetoric, 
which  loses  sight  of  the  thing  described  for 
the  sake  of  the  description.  It  lacks  the  sim- 
plicity of  truth  and  also  the  saving  salt  of 
humour. 

Besides,  what  a  preposterous  idea,  to 
represent  the  Cricket  as  discontented,  be- 
wailing his  condition  in  despair!  All  who 
have  studied  him  know,  on  the  contrary,  that 
he  is  very  well  pleased  with  his  own  talent 
and  his  hole.  This,  moreover,  is  what  the 
fabulist  makes  him  admit,  after  the  Butter- 
fly's discomfiture: 

"  Combien  je  vais  aimer  ma  retralte  pro- 

fonde! 
"  Pour  vivre  heureux,  vivons  cache/" z 

'Jean  Pierre  Claris  de  Florian  (1755-1794),  Voltaire's 
grand-nephew,    the    leading    French    fabulist,    after    La 
Fontaine. — Translator's  Note. 
* "  My  snug   little  home  is  a  place  of  delight: 
"  If  you  want  to  live  happy,  live  hidden  from  sight!  " 
302 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

I  find  more  force  and  more  truth  in  the 
apologue  by  the  nameless  friend  to  whom  I 
owe  the  Provengal  piece,  La  Cigala  e  la 
Fournigo.  He  will  forgive  me  if  for  the 
second  time  I  expose  him,  without  his  con- 
sent, to  the  dangerous  honour  of  print. 
Here  it  is : 

LE  GRILLON 

L'histoire  des  betes  rapporte 
Qu'autrefois  un  pauvre  grillon, 
Prenant  le  soleil  sur  sa  porte, 
Fit  passer  un  beau  papillon. 

Un  papillon  a  longues  queues, 
Superb  e,  des  mieux  decor  es, 
Avec  rangs  de  lunules  bleues, 
Galons  noirs  et  gros  points  dores^ 

"  Vole,  vole"  lui  dit  I'ermite, 
"  Sur  les  fieurs,  du  matin  au  soir; 
"  Ta  rose,  ni  ta  marguerite 
Ne  valent  mon  humble  manoir" 

II  disait  vrai.    Vient  un  orage 
Et  le  papillon  est  noye 

1  My  friend,  who  is  always  accurate  in  his  descriptions, 
is  here  speaking,  if  I  be  not  mistaken,  of  the  Swallow- 
tail.— Author's  Note. 

3<>3 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Dans  un  bourbier;  la  fange  outrage 
Le  velours  de  son  corps  broye. 

Mais  la  tourmente  en  rien  n'e  tonne 
Le  grillon,  qui,  dans  son  abri, 
Qu'il  pleuve,  qu'il  vente,  qu'il  tonne, 
Vit  tranquille  et  chante  cri-cri. 

Ah!  n'allons  pas  courir  le  monde 
Par  mi  les  plaisirs  et  les  fieiirs  ; 
L'humble  foyer,  sa  paix  profonde 
Nous  epargneront  bien  des  pleurs. 

THE  CRICKET 

Among  the  beasts  a  tale  is  told 

How  a  poor  Cricket  ventured  nigh 

His  door  to  catch  the  sun's  warm  gold 
And  saw  a  radiant  Butterfly. 

She  passed  with  tails  thrown  proudly  back 
And  long  gay  rows  of  crescents  blue, 

Brave  yellow  stars  and  bands  of  black, 
The  lordliest  fly  that  ever  flew. 

"  Ah,  fly  away,"  the  hermit  said, 

"  Daylong  among  your  flowers  to  roam ; 

"  Nor  daisies  white  nor  roses  red 
"  Will  compensate  my  lowly  home." 

True,  all  too  true!    There  came  a  storm 
And  caught  the  other  in  its  flood, 
304 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

Staining  her  broken  velvet  form 
And  covering  her  wings  with  mud. 

The  Cricket,  sheltered  from  the  rain, 

Chirped  and  looked  on  with  tranquil  eye; 

For  him  the  thunder  pealed  in  vain, 
The  gale  and  torrent  passed  him  by. 

Then  shun  the  world,  nor  take  your  fill 

Of  any  of  its  joys  or  flowers ; 
A  lowly  fire-side,  calm  and  still, 

At  least  will  grant  you  tearless  hours ! x 

There  I  recognize  my  Cricket.  I  see  him 
curling  his  antennae  on  the  threshold  of  his 
burrow,  keeping  his  belly  cool  and  his  back 
to  the  sun.  He  is  not  jealous  of  the  But- 
terfly; on  the  contrary,  he  pities  her,  with 
that  air  of  mocking  commiseration  familiar 
in  the  ratepayer  who  owns  a  house  of  his 
own  and  sees  passing  before  his  door  some 
wearer  of  a  gaudy  costume  with  no  place  to 
lay  her  head.  Far  from  complaining,  he  is 
very  well  satisfied  with  both  his  house  and 
his  violin.  A  true  philosopher,  he  knows  the 
vanity  of  things  and  appreciates  the  charm 
of  a  modest  retreat  away  from  the  riot  of 
pleasure-seekers. 

1  For  the  translation  of  these  and  the  other  verses 
in  this  chapter  I  am  indebted  to  my  friend  Mr.  Stephen 
McKenna. — Translator's  Note. 

305 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Yes,  the  description  is  about  right,  though 
it  remains  very  inadequate  and  does  not 
bear  the  stamp  of  immortality.  The 
Cricket  is  still  waiting  for  the  few  lines 
needed  to  perpetuate  his  merits;  and,  since 
La  Fontaine  neglected  him,  he  will  have  to 
go  on  waiting  a  long  time. 

To  me,  as  a  naturalist,  the  outstanding 
feature  in  the  two  fables — a  feature  which 
I  should  find  repeated  elsewhere,  beyond  a 
doubt,  if  my  library  were  not  reduced  to  a 
small  row  of  odd  volumes  on  a  deal  shelf — 
is  the  burrow  on  which  the  moral  is  founded. 
Florian  speaks  of  the  snug  retreat;  the 
other  praises  his  lowly  home.  It  is  the 
dwelling  therefore  that  above  all  compels 
attention,  even  that  of  the  poet,  who  cares 
little  in  general  for  realities. 

In  this  respect,  indeed,  the  Cricket  is  ex- 
traordinary. Of  all  our  insects,  he  alone,  on 
attaining  maturity,  possesses  a  fixed  abode, 
the  monument  of  his  industry.  During  the 
bad  season  of  the  year,  most  of  the  others 
burrow  or  skulk  in  some  temporary  refuge, 
a  refuge  obtained  free  of  cost  and  abandoned 
without  regret.  Several  create  marvels,  with 
a  view  to  settling  their  family:  cotton 
satchels,  baskets  made  of  leaves,  towers  of 
306 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

cement.  Some  carnivorous  larvae  dwell  in 
permanent  ambuscades,  where  they  lie  in  wait 
for  their  prey.  The  Tiger-beetle,  among 
others,  digs  itself  a  perpendicular  hole, 
which  it  closes  with  its  flat,  bronze  head. 
Whoever  ventures  on  the  insidious  foot- 
bridge vanishes  down  the  gulf,  whose  trap- 
door at  once  tips  up  and  disappears  beneath 
the  feet  of  the  wayfarer.  The  Ant-lion 
makes  a  funnel  in  the  sand.  The  Ant  slides 
down  its  very  loose  slope  and  is  bombarded 
with  projectiles  hurled  from  the  bottom  of 
the  crater  by  the  hunter,  who  turns  his  neck 
into  a  catapult.  But  these  are  all  temporary 
refuges,  nests  or  traps. 

The  laboriously  constructed  residence,  in 
which  the  insect  settles  down  with  no  inten- 
tion of  moving,  either  in  the  happy  spring  or 
the  woful  winter  season;  the  real  manor, 
built  for  peace  and  comfort  and  not  as  a 
hunting-box  or  a  nursery:  this  is  known 
to  the  Cricket  alone.  On  some  sunny,  grassy 
slope  he  is  the  owner  of  a  hermitage. 
While  all  the  others  lead  vagabond  lives, 
sleeping  in  the  open  air  or  under  the  casual 
shelter  of  a  dead  leaf,  a  stone,  or  the  peeling 
bark  of  an  old  tree,  he  is  a  privileged  person 
with  a  permanent  address. 
307 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

A  serious  problem  is  that  of  the  home. 
It  has  been  solved  by  the  Cricket,  by  the 
Rabbit  and,  lastly,  by  man.  In  my  neigh- 
bourhood, the  Fox  and  the  Badger  have 
holes  the  best  part  of  which  is  supplied  by 
the  irregularities  of  the  rock.  A  few  re- 
pairs; and  the  dug-out  is  completed. 
Cleverer  than  they,  the  Rabbit  builds  his 
house  by  burrowing  wheresoever  he  pleases, 
when  there  is  no  natural  passage  that  allows 
him  to  settle  down  free  of  any  trouble. 

The  Cricket  surpasses  all  of  them.  Scorn- 
ing chance  refuges,  he  always  chooses  the 
site  of  his  abode,  in  .well-drained  ground, 
with  a  pleasant  sunny  aspect.  He  refuses  to 
make  use  of  fortuitous  cavities,  which  are 
incommodious  and  rough;  he  digs  every  bit 
of  his  villa,  from  the  entrance-hall  to  the 
back-room. 

I  see  no  one  above  him,  in  the  art  of 
house-building,  except  man;  and  even  man, 
before  mixing  mortar  to  hold  stones  to- 
gether, before  kneading  clay  to  coat  his  hut 
of  branches,  fought  with  wild  beasts  for  the 
possession  of  a  refuge  in  the  rocks  or  an 
underground  cavern. 

Then  how  are  the  privileges  of  instinct 
distributed?  Here  is  one  of  the  humblest, 
308 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

able  to  lodge  himself  to  perfection.  He  has 
a  home,  an  advantage  unknown  to  many 
civilized  beings;  he  has  a  peaceful  retreat, 
the  first  condition  of  comfort;  and  nobody 
around  him  is  capable  of  settling  down.  He 
has  no  rivals  until  you  come  to  ourselves. 

Whence  does  he  derive  this  gift?  Is  he 
favoured  with  special  tools?  No,  the 
Cricket  is  not  an  incomparable  excavator; 
in  fact,  one  is  rather  surprised  at  the  result 
when  one  considers  the  feebleness  of  his  re- 
sources. 

Can  it  be  made  necessary  by  the  demands 
of  an  exceptionally  delicate  skin?  No, 
among  his  near  kinsmen,  other  skins,  no  less 
sensitive  than  his,  do  not  dread  the  open  air 
at  all. 

Can  it  be  a  propensity  inherent  in  the 
anatomical  structure,  a  talent  prescribed  by 
the  secret  promptings  of  the  organism?  No, 
my  neighbourhood  boasts  three  other 
Crickets  (Gryllus  bimaculatus,  DE  GEER;  G. 
desertus,  PALLAS.;  G.  burdigalensis ;  LATR.), 
who  are  so  like  the  Field  Cricket  in  appear- 
ance, colour  and  structure  that,  at  the  first 
glance,  one  would  take  them  for  him.  The 
first  is  as  large  as  he  is,  or  even  larger.  The 
second  represents  him  reduced  to  about  half 
309 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

his  size.  The  third  is  smaller  still.  Well,  of 
these  faithful  copies,  these  doubles  of  the 
Field  Cricket,  not  one  knows  how  to  dig  him- 
self a  burrow.  The  Double-spotted  Cricket 
inhabits  those  heaps  of  grass  left  to 
rot  in  damp  places;  the  Solitary  Cricket 
roams  about  the  crevices  in  the  dry  clods 
turned  up  by  the  gardener's  spade;  the  Bor- 
deaux Cricket  is  not  afraid  to  make  his  way 
into  our  houses,  where  he  sings  discreetly, 
during  August  and  September,  in  some  dark, 
cool  spot. 

There  is  no  object  in  continuing  our  quest- 
ions: each  would  meet  with  no  for  an  an- 
swer. Instinct,  which  stands  revealed  here 
and  disappears  there  despite  organisms  alike 
in  all  respects,  will  never  tell  us  its  causes. 
It  depends  so  little  on  an  insect's  stock  of 
tools  that  no  anatomical  detail  can  explain 
it  to  us  and  still  less  make  us  foresee  it. 
The  four  almost  identical  Crickets,  of  whom 
one  alone  understands  the  art  of  burrowing, 
add  their  evidence  to  the  manifold  proofs 
already  supplied;  they  confirm  in  a  striking 
fashion  our  profound  ignorance  of  the  origin 
of  instinct. 

Who  does  not  know  the  Cricket's 
abode !  Who  has  not,  as  a  child  playing  in 
310 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

the  fields,  stopped  in  front  of  the  hermit's 
cabin!  However  light  your  footfall,  he  has 
heard  you  coming  and  has  abruptly  with- 
drawn to  the  very  bottom  of  his  hiding- 
place.  When  you  arrive,  the  threshold  of 
the  house  is  deserted. 

Everybody  knows  the  way  to  bring  the 
skulker  out.  You  insert  a  straw  and  move 
it  gently  about  the  burrow.  Surprised  at 
what  is  happening  above,  tickled  and  teased, 
the  Cricket  ascends  from  his  secret  apart- 
ment; he  stops  in  the  passage,  hesitates  and 
enquires  into  things  by  waving  his  delicate 
antennae;  he  comes  to  the  light  and,  once 
outside,  he  is  easy  to  catch,  so  greatly  have 
events  puzzled  his  poor  head.  Should  he  be 
missed  at  the  first  attempt,  he  may  become 
more  suspicious  and  obstinately  resist  the 
titillation  of  the  straw.  In  that  case,  we 
can  flood  him  out  with  a  glass  of  water. 

O  those  adorable  times  when  we  used  to 
cage  our  Crickets  and  feed  them  on  a  leaf 
of  lettuce,  those  childish  hunting-trips  along 
the  grassy  paths  I  They  all  come  back  to  me 
to-day,  as  I  explore  the  burrows  in  search  of 
subjects  for  my  studies;  they  appear  to  me 
almost  in  their  pristine  freshness  when  my 
companion,  little  Paul,  already  an  expert  in 

3" 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  tactical  use  of  the  straw,  springs  up  sud- 
denly, after  a  long  trial  of  skill  and  pa- 
tience with  the  recalcitrant,  and,  brandishing 
his  closed  hand  in  the  air,  cries,  excitedly: 

"  I've  got  him,  I've  got  him !  " 

Quick,  here's  a  bag;  in  you  go,  my  little 
Cricket !  You  shall  be  petted  and  pampered ; 
but  mind  you  teach  us  something  and,  first 
of  all,  show  us  your  house. 

It  is  a  slanting  gallery,  situated  in  the 
grass,  on  some  sunny  bank  which  soon  dries 
after  a  shower.  It  is  nine  inches  long  at 
most,  hardly  as  thick  as  one's  finger  and 
straight  or  bent  according  to  the  exigencies 
of  the  ground.  As  a  rule,  a  tuft  of  grass, 
which  is  respected  by  the  Cricket  when  he 
goes  out  to  browse  upon  the  surrounding 
turf,  half-conceals  the  home,  serving  as  a 
porch  and  throwing  a  discreet  shade  over  the 
entrance.  The  gently-sloping  threshold, 
scrupulously  raked  and  swept,  is  carried  for 
some  distance.  This  is  the  belvedere  on 
which,  when  everything  is  peaceful  round 
about,  the  Cricket  sits  and  scrapes  his  fiddle. 

The   inside   of   the   house   is   devoid   of 

luxury,  with  bare  and  yet  not  coarse  walls. 

Ample  leisure  allows  the  inhabitant  to  do 

away  with  any  unpleasant  roughness.    At  the 

312 


The  Cricket:  the  Eggs 

end  of  the  passage  is  the  bedroom,  the 
terminal  alcove,  a  little  more  carefully 
smoothed  than  the  rest  and  slightly  wider. 
All  said,  it  is  a  very  simple  abode,  exceed- 
ingly clean,  free  from  damp  and  conforming 
with  the  requirements  of  a  well-considered 
system  of  hygiene.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
is  an  enormous  undertaking,  a  regular  Cy- 
clopean tunnel,  when  we  consider  the  modest 
means  of  excavation.  Let  us  try  to  be  pre- 
sent at  the  work.  Let  us  also  enquire  at  what 
period  the  enterprise  begins.  This  obliges 
us  to  go  back  to  the  egg. 

Any  one  wishing  to  see  the  Cricket  lay 
her  eggs  can  do  so  without  making  great 
preparations:  all  that  he  wants  is  a  little 
patience,  which,  according  to  Buffon,  is 
genius,  but  which  I,  more  modestly,  will 
describe  as  the  observer's  chief  virtue.  In 
April,  or  at  latest  in  May,  we  establish  iso- 
lated couples  of  the  insect  in  flower-pots  con- 
taining a  layer  of  heaped-up  earth.  Their 
provisions  consist  of  a  lettuce-leaf  renewed 
from  time  to  time.  A  square  of  glass  covers 
the  retreat  and  prevents  escape. 

Some  extremely  interesting  facts  can  be 
obtained  with  this  simple  installation,  supple- 
mented, if  need  be,  with  a  wire-gauze  cover, 
313 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  best  of  all  cages.  We  shall  return  to 
this  matter.  For  the  moment,  let  us  watch 
the  laying  and  make  sure  that  the  propitious 
hour  does  not  evade  our  vigilance. 

It  is  in  the  first  week  in  June  that  my  as- 
siduous visits  begin  to  show  satisfactory 
results.  I  surprise  the  mother  standing  mo- 
tionless, with  her  ovipositor  planted  per- 
pendicularly in  the  soil.  For  a  long  time  she 
remains  stationed  at  the  same  point,  heedless 
of  her  indiscreet  caller.  At  last  she  with- 
draws her  dibble,  removes,  more  or  less  per- 
functorily, the  traces  of  the  boring-hole, 
takes  a  moment's  rest,  walks  away  and  starts 
again  somewhere  else,  now  here,  now  there, 
all  over  the  area  at  her  disposal.  Her  be- 
haviour, though  her  movements  are  slower, 
is  a  repetition  of  what  the  Decticus  has 
shown  us.  Her  egg-laying  appears  to  me  to 
be  ended  within  the  twenty-four  hours.  For 
greater  certainty,  I  wait  a  couple  of  days 
longer. 

I  then  'dig  up  the  earth  in  the  pot.  The 
straw-coloured  eggs  are  cylinders  rounded  at 
both  ends  and  measuring  about  one-ninth  of 
an  inch  in  length.  They  are  placed  singly 
in  the  soil,  arranged  vertically  and  grouped 
in  more  or  less  numerous  patches,  which  cor- 
314 


The  Cricket:  the  Eggs 

respond  with  the  successive  layings.  I  find 
them  all  over  the  pot,  at  a  depth  of  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch.  There  are  difficulties  in 
examining  a  mass  of  earth  through  a  mag- 
nifying-glass ;  but,  allowing  for  these  difficult- 
ies, I  estimate  the  eggs  laid  by  one  mother  at 
five  or  six  hundred.  So  large  a  family  is 
sure  to  undergo  a  drastic  purging  before 
long. 

The  Cricket's  egg  is  a  little  marvel  of 
mechanism.  After  hatching,  it  appears  as 
an  opaque  white  sheath,  with  a  round  and 
very  regular  aperture  at  the  top ;  to  the  edge 
of  this  a  cap  adheres,  forming  a  lid.  In- 
stead of  bursting  anyhow  under  the  thrusts 
or  cuts  of  the  new-born  larva,  it  opens  of  its 
own  accord  along  a  specially  prepared  line 
of  least  resistance. 

It  became  important  to  observe  the  curious 
hatching.  About  a  fortnight  after  the  egg  is 
laid,  two  large,  round,  rusty-black  eye-dots 
darken  the  front  end.  A  little  way  above 
these  two  dots,  right  at  the  apex  of  the 
cylinder,  you  see  the  outline  of  a  thin  cir- 
cular swelling.  This  is  the  line  of  rupture 
which  is  preparing.  Soon  the  translucency 
of  the  egg  enables  the  observer  to  perceive 
the  delicate  segmentation  of  the  tiny  creature 
315 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

within.  Now  is  the  time  to  redouble  our 
vigilance  and  multiply  our  visits,  especially 
in  the  morning. 

Fortune,  which  loves  the  persevering,  re- 
wards me  for  my  assiduity.  All  round  this 
swelling  where,  by  a  process  of  infinite  deli- 
cacy, the  line  of  least  resistance  has  been 
prepared,  the  end  of  the  egg,  pushed  back 
by  the  inmate's  forehead,  becomes  detached, 
rises  and  falls  to  one  side  like  the  top  of  a 
miniature  scent-bottle.  The  Cricket  pops  out 
like  a  Jack-in-the-box. 

When  he  is  gone,  the  shell  remains  dis- 
tended, smooth,  intact,  pure  white,  with  the 
cap  or  lid  hanging  from  the  opening.  A 
bird's  egg  breaks  clumsily  under  the  blows 
of  a  wart  that  grows  for  the  purpose  at  the 
end  of  the  chick's  beak;  the  Cricket's  egg, 
endowed  with  a  superior  mechanism,  opens 
like  an  ivory  case.  The  thrust  of  the  in- 
mate's head  is  enough  to  work  the  hinge. 

The  hatching  of  the  eggs  is  hastened  by 
the  glorious  weather;  and  the  observer's  pa- 
tience is  not  much  tried,  the  rapidity  rivalling 
that  of  the  Dung-beetles.  The  summer 
solstice  has  not  yet  arrived  when  the  ten 
couples  interned  under  glass  for  the  benefit 
of  my  studies  are  surrounded  by  their 
316 


The  Cricket:  the  Eggs 

numerous  progeny.  The  egg-stage,  there- 
fore, lasts  just  about  ten  days. 

I  said  above  that,  when  the  lid  of  the  ivory 
case  is  lifted,  a  young  Cricket  pops  out. 
This  is  not  quite  accurate.  What  appears 
at  the  opening  is  the  swaddled  grub,  as  yet 
unrecognizable  in  a  tight-fitting  sheath.  I 
expected  to  see  this  wrapper,  this  first  set  of 
baby-clothes,  for  the  same  reasons  that  made 
me  anticipate  it  in  the  case  of  the  Decticus : 

"  The  Cricket,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  is  born 
underground.  He  also  sports  two  very  long 
antennae  and  a  pair  of  overgrown  hind-legs, 
all  of  which  are  cumbrous  appendages  at  the 
time  of  the  emergence.  He  must  therefore 
possess  a  tunic  in  which  to  make  his  exit." 

My  forecast,  correct  enough  in  principle, 
was  only  partly  confirmed.  The  new-born 
Cricket  does  in  fact  possess  a  temporary 
structure;  but,  so  far  from  employing  it  for 
the  purpose  of  hoisting  himself  outside,  he 
throws  off  his  clothes  as  he  passes  out  of  the 

egg- 

To  what  circumstances  are  we  to  attribute 
this  departure  from  the  usual  practice  ?  Per- 
haps to  this:  the  Cricket's  egg  stays  in  the 
ground  for  only  a  few  days  before  hatching; 
the  egg  of  the  Decticus  remains  there  for 
317 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

eight  months.  The  former,  save  for  rare 
exceptions  in  a  season  of  drought,  lies  under 
a  thin  layer  of  dry,  loose,  unresisting  earth ; 
the  latter,  on  the  contrary,  finds  itself  in  soil 
which  has  been  caked  together  by  the  per- 
sistent rains  of  autumn  and  winter  and  which 
therefore  presents  serious  difficulties.  More- 
over, the  Cricket  is  shorter  and  stouter,  less 
long-shanked  than  the  Decticus.  These 
would  appear  to  be  the  reasons  for  the  dif- 
ference between  the  two  insects  in  respect  of 
their  methods  of  emerging.  The  Decticus, 
born  lower  down,  under  a  close-packed 
layer,  needs  a  climbing-costume  with  which 
the  Cricket  is  able  to  dispense,  being  less 
hampered  and  nearer  to  the  surface  and  hav- 
ing only  a  powdery  layer  of  earth  to  pass 
through. 

Then  what  is  the  object  of  the  tights 
which  the  Cricket  flings  aside  as  soon  as  he 
is  out  of  the  egg?  I  will  answer  this  quest- 
ion with  another:  what  is  the  object  of  the 
two  white  stumps,  the  two  pale-coloured 
embryo  wings  carried  by  the  Cricket  under 
his  wing-cases,  which  are  turned  into  a  great 
mechanism  of  sound?  They  are  so  insig- 
nificant, so  feeble  that  the  insect  certainly 
makes  no  use  of  them,  any  more  than  the 
318 


The  Cricket:  the  Eggs 

Dog  utilizes  the  thumb  that  hangs  limp  and 
lifeless  at  the  back  of  his  paw. 

Sometimes,  for  reasons  of  symmetry,  the 
walls  of  a  house  are  painted  with  imitation 
windows  to  balance  the  other  windows,  which 
are  real.  This  is  done  out  of  respect  for 
order,  the  supreme  condition  of  the  beau- 
tiful. In  the  same  way,  life  has  its  sym- 
metries, its  repetitions  of  a  general  proto- 
type. When  abolishing  an  organ  that  has 
ceased  to  be  employed,  it  leaves  vestiges  of 
it  to  maintain  the  primitive  arrangement. 

The  Dog's  rudimentary  thumb  predicates 
the  five-fingered  hand  that  characterizes  the 
higher  animals;  the  Cricket's  wing-stumps 
are  evidence  that  the  insect  would  normally 
be  capable  of  flight;  the  moult  undergone  on 
the  threshold  of  the  egg  is  reminiscent  of  the 
tight-fitting  wrapper  needed  for  the  laborious 
exit  of  the  Locustidae  born  underground. 
They  are  so  many  symmetrical  superfluities, 
so  many  remains  of  a  law  that  has  fallen 
into  disuse  but  never  been  abrogated. 

As  soon  as  he  is  deprived  of  his  delicate 
tunic,  the  young  Cricket,  pale  all  over,  al- 
most white,  begins  to  battle  with  the  soil 
overhead.  He  hits  out  with  his  mandibles; 
he  sweeps  aside  and  kicks  behind  him  the 
319 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

powdery  obstruction,  which  offers  no  resist- 
ance. Behold  him  on  the  surface,  amidst 
the  joys  of  the  sunlight  and  the  perils  of 
conflict  with  the  living,  poor,  feeble  creature 
that  he  is,  hardly  larger  than  a  Flea.  In 
twenty-four  hours  he  colours  and  turns  into 
a  magnificent  blackamoor,  whose  ebon  hue 
vies  with  that  of  the  adult  insect.  All  that 
remains  of  his  original  pallor  is  a  white  sash 
that  girds  his  chest  and  reminds  us  of  a  baby's 
leading-string.  Very  nimble  and  alert,  he 
sounds  the  surrounding  space  with  his  long, 
quivering  antennas,  runs  about  and  jumps 
with  an  impetuosity  in  which  his  future 
obesity  will  forbid  him  to  indulge. 

This  is  also  the  age  when  the  stomach  is 
still  delicate.  What  sort  of  food  does  he 
need?  I  do  not  know.  I  offer  him  the 
adult's  treat,  tender  lettuce-leaves.  He 
scorns  to  touch  them,  or  perhaps  he  takes 
mouthfuls  so  exceedingly  small  that  they 
escape  me. 

In  a  few  days,  with  my  ten  households, 
I  find  myself  overwhelmed  with  family 
cares.  What  am  I  to  do  with  my  five 
or  six  thousand  Crickets,  a  pretty  flock, 
no  doubt,  but  impossible  to  rear  in  my 
ignorance  of  the  treatment  required  ?  I  will 
320 


The  Cricket:  the  Eggs 

set  you  at  liberty,  my  little  dears;  I  will 
entrust  you  to  nature,  the  sovran  nurse. 

Thus  it  comes  to  pass.  I  release  my 
legions  in  the  enclosure,  here,  there  and 
everywhere,  in  the  best  places.  What  a  con- 
cert I  shall  have  outside  my  door  next  year, 
if  they  all  turn  out  well !  But  no,  the  sym- 
phony will  probably  be  one  of  silence,  for  the 
savage  pruning  due  to  the  mother's  fertility 
is  bound  to  come.  All  that  I  can  hope  for  is 
that  a  few  couples  may  survive  extermina- 
tion. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  young  Praying 
Mantes,  the  first  that  hasten  to  this  manna 
and  the  most  eager  for  the  slaughter  are 
the  little  Grey  Lizard  and  the  Ant.  The 
latter,  loathsome  freebooter  that  she  is,  will, 
I  fear,  not  leave  me  a  single  Cricket  in  the 
garden.  She  snaps  up  the  poor  little  crea- 
tures, eviscerates  them  and  gobbles  them 
down  at  frantic  speed. 

Oh,  the  execrable  wretch  1  And  to  think 
that  we  place  the  Ant  in  the  front  rank  of 
insects!  Books  are  written  in  her  honour 
and  the  stream  of  eulogy  never  ceases;  the 
naturalists  hold  her  in  the  greatest  esteem 
and  add  daily  to  her  reputation,  so  true  is  it, 
among  animals  as  among  men,  that  of  the 
321 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

various  ways  of  making  history,  the  surest 
way  is  to  do  harm  to  others.1 

Nobody  asks  after  the  Dung-beetle  and 
the  Necrophorus,2  invaluable  scavengers 
both,  whereas  everybody  knows  the  Gnat, 
that  drinker  of  men's  blood ;  the  Wasp,  that 
hot-tempered  swashbuckler,  with  her  poi- 
soned dagger;  and  the  Ant,  that  notorious 
evil-doer,  who,  in  our  southern  villages,  saps 
and  imperils  the  rafters  of  a  dwelling  with 
the  same  zest  with  which  she  devours  a  fig. 
I  need  not  trouble  to  say  more:  every  one 
will  discover  in  the  records  of  mankind 
similar  instances  of  usefulness  ignored  and 
frightfulness  exalted. 

The  massacre  instituted  by  the  Ants  and 
other  exterminators  is  so  great  that  my  erst- 
while populous  colonies  in  the  enclosure  be- 
come too  small  to  enable  me  to  continue  my 
observations;  and  I  am  driven  to  have  re- 
course to  information  outside.  In  August, 
among  the  fallen  leaves,  in  those  little  oases 
where  the  grass  has  not  been  wholly  scorched 
by  the  sun,  I  find  the  young  Cricket  already 
rather  big,  black  all  over  like  the  adult, 

1  For  the  author's  only  essay  on  Ants,  cf.  The  Mason- 
bees:  chap.  vi. — Translator's  Note. 

*Or  Burying-beetle. — Translator's  Note. 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

with  not  a  vestige  of  the  white  girdle  of  his 
early  days.  He  has  no  domicile.  The 
shelter  of  a  dead  leaf,  the  cover  of  a  flat 
stone  are  enough  for  him;  they  represent 
the  tents  of  a  nomad  who  cares  not  where 
he  lays  his  head. 

This  vagabond  life  continues  until  the 
middle  of  autumn.  It  is  then  that  the 
Yellow-winged  Sphex *  hunts  down  the  wan- 
derers, an  easy  prey,  and  stores  her  bag  of 
Crickets  underground.  She  decimates  those 
who  have  survived  the  Ants'  devastating 
raids.  A  settled  dwelling,  dug  a  few  weeks 
before  the  usual  time,  would  save  them  from 
the  spoilers.  The  sorely-tried  victims  do 
not  think  of  it.  The  bitter  experience  of  the 
centuries  has  taught  them  nothing.  Though 
already  strong  enough  to  dig  a  protecting 
burrow,  they  remain  invincibly  faithful  to 
their  ancient  customs  and  would  go  on  roam- 
ing though  the  Sphex  stabbed  the  last  of 
their  race. 

It  is  at  the  close  of  October,  when  the 
first  cold  weather  threatens,  that  the  burrow 
is  taken  in  hand.  The  work  is  very  simple, 
judging  by  the  little  that  my  observation  of 

1  Cf.  The  Hunting  Wasps:  chaps,  iv  to  vii. — Trans- 
lator's Note. 

323 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  caged  insect  has  shown  me.  The  dig- 
ging is  never  done  at  a  bare  point  in  the 
pan,  but  always  under  the  shelter  of  a  with- 
ered lettuce-leaf,  some  remnant  of  the  food 
provided.  This  takes  the  place  of  the  grass 
screen  that  seems  indispensable  to  the  secrecy 
of  the  establishment. 

The  miner  scrapes  with  his  fore-legs  and 
uses  the  pincers  of  his  mandibles  to  extract 
the  larger  bits  of  gravel.  I  see  him  stamp- 
ing with  his  powerful  hind-legs,  furnished 
with  a  double  row  of  spikes;  I  see  him 
raking  the  rubbish,  sweeping  it  backwards 
and  spreading  it  slantwise.  There  you  have 
the  method  in  its  entirety. 

The  work  proceeds  pretty  quickly  at  first. 
In  the  yielding  soil  of  my  cages,  the  digger 
disappears  underground  after  a  spell  that 
lasts  a  couple  of  hours.  He  returns  to  the 
entrance  at  intervals,  always  backwards  and 
always  sweeping.  Should  he  be  overcome 
with  fatigue,  he  takes  a  rest  on  the  threshold 
of  his  half-finished  home,  with  his  head  out- 
side and  his  antennae  waving  feebly.  He 
goes  in  again  and  resumes  work  with  pincers 
and  rakes.  Soon  the  periods  of  repose  be- 
come longer  and  wear  out  my  patience. 

The  most  urgent  part  of  the  work  is  done. 
324 


The  Cricket:  the  Burrow 

Once  the  hole  is  a  couple  of  inches  deep,  it 
suffices  for  the  needs  of  the  moment.  The 
rest  will  be  a  long-winded  business,  resumed 
in  a  leisurely  fashion,  a  little  one  day  and 
a  little  the  next ;  the  hole  will  be  made  deeper 
and  wider  as  demanded  by  the  inclemencies 
of  the  weather  and  the  growth  of  the  insect. 
Even  in  winter,  if  the  temperature  be  mild 
and  the  sun  playing  over  the  entrance  to  the 
dwelling,  it  is  not  unusual  to  see  the  Cricket 
shooting  out  rubbish,  a  sign  of  repairs  and 
fresh  excavations.  Amidst  the  joys  of 
spring,  the  upkeep  of  the  building  still  con- 
tinues. It  is  constantly  undergoing  improve- 
ments and  repairs  until  the  owner's  decease. 
April  comes  to  an  end  and  the  Cricket's 
song  begins,  at  first  in  rare  and  shy  solos, 
soon  developing  into  a  general  symphony  in 
which  each  clod  of  turf  boasts  its  performer. 
I  am  more  than  inclined  to  place  the  Cricket 
at  the  head  of  the  spring  choristers.  In  our 
waste  lands,  when  the  thyme  and  the  lavender 
are  gaily  flowering,  he  has  as  his  partner 
the  Crested  Lark,  who  rises  like  a  lyrical 
rocket,  his  throat  swelling  with  notes,  and 
from  the  sky,  invisible  in  the  clouds,  sheds  his 
sweet  music  upon  the  fallows.  Down  below 
the  Crickets  chant  the  responses.  Their 
325 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

song  is  monotonous  and  artless,  but  so  well- 
suited,  in  its  very  crudity,  to  the  rustic  glad- 
ness of  renascent  life !  It  is  the  hosanna  of 
the  awakening,  the  sacred  alleluia  under- 
stood by  swelling  seed  and  sprouting  blade. 
Who  deserves  the  palm  in  this  duet?  I 
should  award  it  to  the  Cricket.  He  sur- 
passes them  all,  thanks  to  his  numbers  and 
his  unceasing  note.  Were  the  Lark  to  fall 
silent,  the  fields  blue-grey  with  lavender, 
swinging  its  fragrant  censers  before  the  sun, 
would  still  receive  from  this  humble  chorister 
a  solemn  celebration. 


326 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CRICKET :    THE  SONG ;  THE  PAIRING 

IN  steps  anatomy  and  says  to  the  Cricket, 
bluntly : 

"  Show  us  your  musical-box." 

Like  all  things  of  real  value,  it  is  very 
simple;  it  is  based  on  the  same  principle  as 
that  of  the  Grasshoppers:  a  bow  with  a 
hook  to  it  and  a  vibrating  membrane.  The 
right  wing-case  overlaps  the  left  and  covers 
it  almost  completely,  except  where  it  folds 
back  sharply  and  encases  the  insect's  side. 
It  is  the  converse  of  what  we  see  in  the 
Green  Grasshopper,  the  Decticus,  the  Ephip- 
piger  and  their  kinsmen.  The  Cricket  is 
right-handed,  the  others  left-handed. 

The  two  wing-cases  have  exactly  the  same 
structure.  To  know  one  is  to  know  the 
other.  Let  us  describe  the  one  on  the  right. 
It  is  almost  flat  on  the  back  and  slants  sud- 
denly at  the  side  in  a  right-angled  fold, 
encircling  the  abdomen  with  a  pinion  which 
327 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

has  delicate,  parallel  veins  running  in  an 
oblique  direction.  The  dorsal  surface  has 
stronger  and  more  prominent  nervures,  of  a 
deep-black  colour,  which,  taken  together, 
form  a  strange,  complicated  design,  bearing 
some  resemblance  to  the  hieroglyphics  of 
an  Arabic  manuscript. 

By  holding  it  up  to  the  light,  one  can  see 
that  it  is  a  very  pale  red,  save  for  two  large 
adjoining  spaces,  a  larger,  triangular  one 
in  front  and  a  smaller,  oval  one  at  the  back. 
Each  is  framed  in  a  prominent  nervure  and 
scored  with  faint  wrinkles.  The  first,  more- 
over, is  strengthened  with  four  or  five 
chevrons ;  the  second  with  only  one,  which  is 
bow-shaped.  These  two  areas  represent  the 
Grasshoppers'  mirror;  they  constitute  the 
sounding-areas.  The  skin  is  finer  here  than 
elsewhere  and  transparent,  though  of  a 
somewhat  smoky  tint. 

The  front  part,  which  is  smooth  and 
slightly  red  in  hue,  is  bounded  at  the  back 
by  two  curved,  parallel  veins,  having  between 
them  a  cavity  containing  a  row  of  five  or 
six  little  black  wrinkles  that  look  like  the 
rungs  of  a  tiny  ladder.  The  left  wing-case 
presents  an  exact  duplicate  of  the  right. 
The  wrinkles  constitute  the  friction-nerv- 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

ures  which  intensify  the  vibration  by  increas- 
ing the  number  of  the  points  that  are  touched 
by  the  bow. 

On  the  lower  surface,  one  of  the  two  veins 
that  surround  the  cavity  with  the  rungs  be- 
comes a  rib  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  hook. 
This  is  the  bow.  I  count  in  it  about  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  triangular  teeth  or  prisms  of 
exquisite  geometrical  perfection. 

It  is  a  fine  instrument  indeed,  far  superior 
to  that  of  the  Decticus.  The  hundred  and 
fifty  prisms  of  the  bow,  biting  into  the  rungs 
of  the  opposite  wing-case,  set  the  four  drums 
in  motion  at  one  and  the  same  time,  the 
lower  pair  by  direct  friction,  the  upper  pair 
by  the  shaking  of  the  friction-apparatus. 
What  a  rush  of  sound!  The  Decticus,  en- 
dowed with  a  single  paltry  mirror,  can  be 
heard  just  a  few  steps  away;  the  Cricket, 
possessing  four  vibratory  areas,  throws  his 
ditty  to  a  distance  of  some  hundreds  of 
yards. 

He  vies  with  the  Cicada  in  shrillness, 
without  having  the  latter's  disagreeable 
harshness.  Better  still:  this  favoured  one 
knows  how  to  modulate  his  song.  The 
wing-cases,  as  we  said,  extend  over  either 
side  in  a  wide  fold.  These  are  the  dampers 
329 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

which,  lowered  to  a  greater  or  lesser  depth, 
alter  the  intensity  of  the  sound  and,  accord- 
ing to  the  extent  of  their  contact  with  the 
soft  abdomen,  allow  the  insect  to  sing  mezza 
voce  at  one  time  and  fortissimo  at  another. 

The  exact  similarity  of  the  two  wing- 
cases  is  worthy  of  attention.  I  can  see 
clearly  the  function  of  the  upper  bow  and 
the  four  sounding-areas  which  it  sets  in  mo- 
tion; but  what  is  the  good  of  the  lower  one, 
the  bow  on  the  left  wing?  Not  resting  on 
anything,  it  has  nothing  to  strike  with  its 
hook,  which  is  as  carefully  toothed  as  the 
other.  It  is  absolutely  useless,  unless  the 
apparatus  can  invert  the  order  of  its  two 
parts  and  place  that  above  which  was  below. 
After  such  an  inversion,  the  perfect  sym- 
metry of  the  instrument  would  cause  the 
necessary  mechanism  to  be  reproduced  in 
every  respect  and  the  insect  would  be  able 
to  stridulate  with  the  hook  which  is  at  pre- 
sent unemployed.  It  would  scrape  away  as 
usual  with  its  lower  fiddlestick,  now  become 
the  upper;  and  the  tune  would  remain  the 
same. 

Is  this  permutation  within  its  power? 
Can  the  insect  use  both  pot-hooks,  changing 
from  one  to  the  other  when  it  grows  tired, 
330 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

which  would  mean  that  it  could  keep  up  its 
music  all  the  longer?  Or  are  there  at  least 
some  Crickets  who  are  permanently  left- 
handed?  I  expected  to  find  this  the  case, 
because  of  the  absolute  symmetry  of  the 
wing-cases.  Observation  convinced  me  of 
the  contrary.  I  have  never  come  across  a 
Cricket  that  failed  to  conform  with  the  ge- 
neral rule.  All  those  whom  I  have  examined 
— and  they  are  many — without  a  single  ex- 
ception carried  the  right  wing-case  above  the 
left. 

Let  us  try  to  interfere  and  to  bring  about 
by  artifice  what  natural  conditions  refuse  to 
show  us.  Using  my  forceps,  very  gently,  of 
course,  and  without  straining  the  wing-cases, 
I  make  these  overlap  the  opposite  way.  This 
result  is  easily  obtained  with  a  little  dex- 
terity and  patience.  The  thing  is  done. 
Everything  is  in  order.  There  is  no  disloca- 
tion at  the  shoulders;  the  membranes  are 
without  a  crease.  Things  could  not  be  better- 
arranged  under  normal  conditions. 

Was  the  Cricket  going  to  sing,  with  his 
inverted  instrument?  I  was  almost  expect- 
ing it,  appearances  were  so  much  in  its 
favour;  but  I  was  soon  undeceived.  The 
insect  submits  for  a  few  moments ;  then,  find- 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

ing  the  inversion  uncomfortable,  it  makes 
an  effort  and  restores  the  instrument  to  its 
regular  position.  In  vain  I  repeat  the  opera- 
tion: the  Cricket's  obstinacy  triumphs  over 
mine.  The  displaced  wing-cases  always  re- 
sume their  normal  arrangement.  There  is 
nothing  to  be  done  in  this  direction. 

Shall  I  be  more  successful  if  I  make  my 
attempt  while  the  wing-cases  are  still  im- 
mature? At  the  actual  moment,  they  are 
stiff  membranes,  resisting  any  changes.  The 
fold  is  already  there ;  it  is  at  the  outset  that 
the  material  should  be  manipulated.  What 
shall  we  learn  from  organs  that  are  quite 
new  and  still  plastic,  if  we  invert  them  as 
soon  as  they  appear?  The  thing  is  worth 
trying. 

For  this  purpose,  I  go  to  the  larva  and 
watch  for  the  moment  of  its  metamorphosis, 
a  sort  of  second  birth.  The  future  wings 
and  wing-cases  form  four  tiny  flaps  which, 
by  their  shape  and  their  scantiness,  as  well 
as  by  the  way  in  which  they  stick  out  in  dif- 
ferent directions,  remind  me  of  the  short 
jackets  worn  by  the  Auvergne  cheese-makers. 
I  am  most  assiduous  in  my  attendance,  lest 
I  should  miss  the  propitious  moment,  and 
at  last  have  a  chance  to  witness  the  moult- 
332 


•icket: 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

ing.  In  the  early  part  of  May,  at  about 
eleven  in  the  morning,  a  larva  casts  off  its 
rustic  garments  before  my  eyes.  The  trans- 
formed Cricket  is  now  a  reddish  brown,  all 
but  the  wings  and  wing-cases,  which  are 
beautifully  white. 

Both  wings  and  wing-cases,  which  only 
issued  from  their  sheaths  quite  recently,  are 
no  more  than  short,  crinkly  stumps.  The 
former  remain  in  this  rudimentary  state,  or 
nearly  so.  The  latter  gradually  develop  bit 
by  bit  and  open  out;  their  inner  edges,  with 
a  movement  too  slow  to  be  perceived,  meet 
one  another,  on  the  same  plane  and  at  the 
same  level.  There  is  no  sign  to  tell  us  which 
of  the  two  wing-cases  will  overlap  the  other. 
The  two  edges  are  now  touching.  A  few 
moments  longer  and  the  right  will  be  above 
the  left.  This  is  the  time  to  intervene. 

With  a  straw  I  gently  change  the  position, 
bringing  the  left  edge  over  the  right.  The 
insect  protests  a  little  and  disturbs  my 
manoeuvring.  I  insist,  while  taking  every 
possible  care  not  to  endanger  these  tender 
organs,  which  look  as  though  they  were  cut 
out  of  wet  tissue-paper.  And  I  am  quite  suc- 
cessful: the  left  Wing-case  pushes  forward 
above  the  right,  but  only  very  little,  barely 

333 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

a  twenty-fifth  of  an  inch.  We  will  leave  it 
alone :  things  will  now  go  of  themselves. 

They  go  as  well,  as  one  could  wish,  in 
fact.  Continuing  to  'spread,  the  left  wing- 
case  ends  by  entirely  covering  the  other.  At 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  Cricket 
has  changed  from  a  reddish  hue  to  black,  but 
the  wing-cases  are  still  white.  Two  hours 
more  and  they  also  will  possess  the  normal 
colouring. 

It  is  over.  The  wing-cases  have  come  to 
maturity  under  the  artificial  arrangement; 
they  have  opened  out  and  moulded  them- 
selves according  to  my  plans;  they  have 
taken  breadth  and  consistency  and  have  been 
born,  so  to  speak,  in  an  inverted  position. 
As  things  now  are,  the  Cricket  is  left-handed. 
Will  he  definitely  remain  so?  It  seems  to 
me  that  he  will;  and  my  hopes  rise  higher 
on  the  morrow  and  the  day  after,  for  the 
wing-cases  continue,  without  any  trouble,  in 
their  unusual  arrangement.  I  expect  soon  to 
see  the  artist  wield  that  particular  fiddle- 
stick which  the  members  of  his  family  never 
employ.  I  redouble  my  watchfulness,  so  as 
to  witness  his  first  attempt  at  playing  the 
violin. 

On  the  third  day,  the  novice  makes  a 
334 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

start.  A  few  brief  grating  sounds  are  heard, 
the  noise  of  a  machine  out  of  gear  shifting 
its  parts  back  into  their  proper  order.  Then 
the  song  begins,  with  its  accustomed  tone 
and  rhythm. 

Veil  your  face,  O  foolish  experimenter, 
overconfident  in  your  mischievous  straw! 
You  thought  that  you  had  created  a  new 
type  of  instrumentalist;  and  you  have  ob- 
tained nothing  at  all.  The  Cricket  has 
thwarted  your  schemes :  he  is  scraping  with 
his  right  fiddlestick  and  always  will.  With 
a  painful  effort,  he  has  dislocated  his  shoul- 
ders, which  were  made  to  mature  and  harden 
the  wrong  way;  and,  in  spite  of  a  set  that 
seemed  definite,  he  has  put  back  on  top  that 
which  ought  to  be  on  top  and  underneath 
that  which  ought  to  be  underneath.  Your 
sorry  science  tried  to  make  a  left-handed 
player  of  him.  He  laughs  at  your  devices 
and  settles  down  to  be  right-handed  for  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

Franklin  left  an  eloquent  plea  on  behalf 
of  the  left  hand,  which,  he  considered,  de- 
served as  careful  training  as  its  fellow. 
What  an  immense  advantage  it  would  be 
thus  to  have  two  servants  each  as  capable 
as  the  other !  Yes,  certainly ;  but,  except  for 
335 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

a  few  rare  instances,  is  this  equality  of 
strength  and  skill  in  the  two  hands  possible? 

The  Cricket  answers  no:  there  is  an  ori- 
ginal weakness  in  the  left  side,  a  want  of 
balance,  which  habit  and  training  can  to  a 
certain  extent  correct,  but  which  they  can 
never  cause  wholly  to  disappear.  Though 
shaped  by  a  training  which  takes  it  at  its 
birth  and  moulds  and  solidifies  it  on  the  top 
of  the  other,  the  left  wing-case  none  the  less 
resumes  the  lower  position  when  the  insect 
tries  to  sing.  As  to  the  cause  of  this  original 
inferiority,  that  is  a  problem  which  belongs 
to  embryogenesis. 

My  failure  confirms  the  fact  that  the  left 
wing-case  is  unable  to  make  use  of  its  bow, 
even  when  supplemented  by  the  aid  of  art. 
Then  what  is  the  object  of  that  hook  whose 
exquisite  precision  yields  in  no  respect  to  that 
of  the  other?  We  might  appeal  to  reasons 
of  symmetry  and  talk  about  the  repetition 
of  an  archetypal  design,  as  I,  for  want  of 
a  better  argument,  did  just  now  in  the  matter 
of  the  cast  raiment  which  the  young  Cricket 
leaves  on  the  threshold  of  his  ovular  sheath; 
but  I  prefer  to  confess  that  this  would  be 
but  the  semblance  of  an  explanation,  wrapped 
up  in  specious  language.  For  the  Decticus, 
336 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

the  Grasshopper  and  the  other  Locustidae 
would  come  and  show  us  their  wing-cases, 
one  with  the  bow  only,  the  other  with  the 
mirror,  and  say: 

"  Why  should  the  Cricket,  our  near  kins- 
man, be  symmetrical,  whereas  all  of  us 
Locustidze,  without  exception,  are  asym- 
metrical? " 

There  is  no  valid  answer  to  their  objec- 
tion. Let  us  confess  our  ignorance  and 
humbly  say: 

"  I  do  not  know." 

It  wants  but  a  Midge's  wing  to  confound 
our  proudest  theories. 

Enough  of  the  instrument;  let  us  listen  to 
the  music.  The  Cricket  sings  on  the  thresh- 
old of  his  house,  in  the  cheerful  sunshine, 
never  indoors.  The  wing-cases,  lifted  in  a 
double  inclined  plane  and  now  only  partly 
covering  each  other,  utter  their  stridulant 
cri-cri  in  a  soft  tremolo.  It  is  full,  sonorous, 
nicely  cadenced  and  lasts  indefinitely.  Thus 
are  the  leisures  of  solitude  beguiled  all 
through  the  spring.  The  anchorite  at  first 
sings  for  his  own  pleasure.  Glad  to  be  alive, 
he  chants  the  praises  of  the  sun  that  shines 
upon  him,  the  grass  that  feeds  him,  the 
peaceful  retreat  that  harbours  him.  The 

337 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

first  object  of  his  bow  is  to  hymn  the  bless- 
ings of  life. 

The  hermit  also  sings  for  the  benefit  of 
his  fair  neighbours.  The  Cricket's  nuptials 
would,  I  warrant,  present  a  curious  scene,  if 
it  were  possible  to  follow  their  details  far 
from  the  commotions  of  captivity.  To  seek 
an  opportunity  would  be  labour  lost,  for  the 
insect  is  very  shy.  I  must  await  one.  Shall 
I  ever  find  it?  I  do  not  despair,  in  spite  of 
the  extraordinary  difficulty.  For  the  mo- 
ment, let  us  be  satisfied  with  what  we  can 
learn  from  probability  and  the  vivarium. 

The  two  sexes  dwell  apart.  Both  are  ex- 
tremely domestic  in  their  habits.  Whose 
business  is  it  to  make  a  move?  Does  the 
caller  go  in  search  of  the  called?  Does  the 
serenaded  one  come  to  the  serenader?  If, 
at  pairing-time,  sound  were  the  sole  guide 
where  homes  are  far  apart,  it  would  be 
necessary  for  the  silent  partner  to  go  to  the 
noisy  one's  trysting-place.  But  I  imagine 
that,  in  order  to  save  appearances — and  this 
accords  with  what  I  learn  from  my  prisoners 
— the  Cricket  has  special  faculties  that  guide 
him  towards  his  mute  lady-love. 

When  and  how  is  the  meeting  effected?  I 
suspect  that  things  take  place  in  the  friendly 
338 


The  Cricket:  the  Pairing 

gloaming  and  upon  the  very  threshold  of  the 
bride's  home,  upon  that  sanded  esplanade, 
that  state  courtyard,  which  lies  just  outside 
the  entrance. 

A  nocturnal  journey  like  this,  at  some 
twenty  paces'  distance,  is  a  serious  under- 
taking for  the  Cricket.  When  he  has  ac- 
complished his  pilgrimage,  how  will  he,  the 
stay-at-home,  with  his  imperfect  knowledge 
of  topography,  find  his  own  house  again? 
To  return  to  his  Penates  must  be  impossible. 
He  roams,  I  fear,  at  random,  with  no  place 
to  lay  his  head.  He  has  neither  the  time 
nor  the  heart  to  dig  himself  the  new  burrow 
which  would  be  his  salvation;  and  he  dies 
a  wretched  death,  forming  a  savoury  mouth- 
ful for  the  Toad  on  his  night  rounds.  His 
visit  to  the  lady  Cricket  has  cost  him  his 
home  and  his  life.  What  does  he  care  !  He 
has  done  his  duty  as  a  Cricket. 

This  is  how  I  picture  events  when  I  com- 
bine the  probabilities  of  the  open  country 
with  the  realities  of  the  vivarium.  I  have 
several  couples  in  one  cage.  As  a  rule,  my 
captives  refrain  from  digging  themselves  a 
dwelling.  The  hour  has  passed  for  any  long 
waiting  or  long  wooing.  They  wander  about 
the  enclosed  space,  without  troubling  about 
339 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

a  fixed  home,  or  else  lie  low  under  the  shelter 
of  a  lettuce-leaf. 

Peace  reigns  in  the  household  until  the 
quarrelsome  instincts  of  pairing-time  break 
out.  Then  affrays  between  suitors  are  fre- 
quent and  lively,  though  not  serious.  The 
two  rivals  stand  face  to  face,  bite  each  other 
in  the  head,  that  solid,  fang-proof  helmet, 
roll  each  other  over,  pick  themselves  up  and 
separate.  The  vanquished  Cricket  makes  off 
as  fast  as  he  can ;  the  victor  insults  him  with 
a  boastful  ditty;  then,  moderating  his  tone, 
he  veers  and  tacks  around  the  object  of  his 
desires. 

He  makes  himself  look  smart  and,  at  the 
same  time,  submissive.  Gripping  one  of  his 
antennas  with  a  claw,  he  takes  it  in  his  mandi- 
bles to  curl  it  and  grease  it  with  saliva.  With 
his  long  spurred  and  red-striped  hind-legs, 
he  stamps  the  ground  impatiently  and  kicks 
out  at  nothing.  His  emotion  renders  him 
dumb.  His  wing-cases,  it  is  true,  quiver  rap- 
idly, but  they  give  forth  no  sound,  or  at 
most  an  agitated  rustling. 

A  vain  declaration!    The  female  Cricket 
runs  and  hides  herself  in  a  curly  bit  of  let- 
tuce.   She  lifts  the  curtain  a  little,  however, 
and  looks  out  and  wishes  to  be  seen. 
340 


The  Cricket:  the  Pairing 
Et  fugit  ad  salices;  el  se  cupit  ante  videri^ 

said  the  delightful  eclogue,  two  thousand 
years  ago.  Thrice-consecrated  strategy  of 
love,  thou  art  everywhere  the  same  I 

The  song  is  resumed,  intersected  by  si- 
lences and  murmuring  quavers.  Touched  by 
so  much  passion,  Galatea,  I  mean  Dame 
Cricket,  issues  from  her  hiding-place.  The 
other  goes  up  to  her,  suddenly  spins  round, 
turns  his  back  to  her  and  flattens  his  ab- 
domen against  the  ground.  Crawling  back- 
wards, he  makes  repeated  efforts  to  slip  un- 
derneath. The  curious  backward  manoeuvre 
at  last  succeeds.  Gently,  my  little  one, 
gently!  Discreetly  flattened  out,  you  man- 
age to  slide  under.  That's  done  it!  We 
have  our  couple.  A  spermatophore,  a 
granule  smaller  than  a  pin's  head,  hangs 
where  it  ought  to.  The  meadows  will  have 
their  Crickets  next  year. 

The  laying  of  the  eggs  follows  soon  after. 
Then  this  cohabitation  in  couples  in  a  cage 
often  brings  about  domestic  quarrels.  The 
father  is  knocked  about  and  crippled;  his 

1 "  Then  tripping  to  the  woods  the  wanton  hies 

And  wishes  to  be  seen  before  she  flies." 
— VIRGIL,  Pastorals:  book  i.;  Dryden's  translation. 

341 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

violin  is  smashed  to  bits.  Outside  my  cells, 
in  the  open  fields,  the  hen-pecked  husband 
is  able  to  take  to  flight;  and  that  indeed  is 
what  he  appears  to  do,  not  without  good 
reason. 

This  ferocious  aversion  of  the  mother  for 
the  father,  even  among  the  most  peaceable, 
gives  food  for  thought.  The  sweetheart  of 
but  now,  if  he  come  within  reach  of  the 
lady's  teeth,  is  eaten  more  or  less;  he  does 
not  escape  from  the  final  interviews  without 
leaving  a  leg  or  two  and  some  shreds 
of  wing-cases  behind  him.  Locusts  and 
Crickets,  those  lingering  representatives  of 
a  bygone  world,  tell  us  that  the  male,  a  mere 
secondary  wheel  in  life's  original  mechan- 
ism, has  to  disappear  at  short  notice  and 
make  room  for  the  real  propagator,  the  real 
worker,  the  mother. 

Later,  in  the  higher  order  of  creation, 
sometimes  even  among  insects,  he  is  awarded 
a  task  as  a  collaborator;  and  nothing  better 
could  be  desired :  the  family  must  needs  gain 
by  it.  But  the  Cricket,  faithful  to  the  old 
traditions,  has  not  yet  got  so  far.  There- 
fore the  object  of  yesterday's  longing  be- 
comes to-day  an  object  of  hatred,  ill-treated, 
disembowelled  and  eaten  up. 
342 


The  Cricket:  the  Pairing 

Even  when  free  to  escape  from  his 
pugnacious  mate,  the  superannuated  Cricket 
soon  perishes,  a  victim  to  life.  In  June, 
all  my  captives  succumb,  some  dying  a 
natural,  others  a  violent  death.  The  mothers 
survive  for  some  time  in  the  midst  of  their 
newly-hatched  family.  But  things  happen 
differently  when  the  males  have  the  advan- 
tage of  remaining  bachelors :  they  then  enjoy 
a  remarkable  longevity.  Let  me  relate  the 
facts. 

We  are  told  that  the  music-loving  Greeks 
used  to  keep  Cicadas  in  cages,  the  better  to 
enjoy  their  singing.  I  venture  to  disbelieve 
the  whole  story.  In  the  first  place,  the  harsh 
clicking  of  the  Cicadae,  when  long  continued 
at  close  quarters,  is  a  torture  to  ears  that 
are  at  all  delicate.  The  Greeks'  sense  of 
hearing  was  too  well-disciplined  to  take 
pleasure  in  such  raucous  sounds  away  from 
the  general  concert  of  the  fields,  which  is 
heard  at  a  distance. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  absolutely  im- 
possible to  bring  up  Cicada?  in  captivity,  un- 
less we  cover  over  an  olive-tree  or  a  plane- 
tree,  which  would  supply  us  with  a  vivarium 
very  difficult  to  instal  on  a  window-sill.  A 
single  day  spent  in  a  cramped  enclosure 
343 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

would  make   the   high-flying  insect  die   of 
boredom. 

Is  it  not  possible  that  people  have  con- 
fused the  Cricket  with  the  Cicada,  as  they 
also  do  the  Green  Grasshopper?  With  the 
Cricket  they  would  be  quite  right.  He  is 
one  who  bears  captivity  gaily:  his  stay-at- 
home  ways  predispose  him  to  it.  He  lives 
happily  and  whirrs  without  ceasing  in  a  cage 
no  larger  than  a  man's  fist,  provided  that 
we  serve  him  with  his  lettuce-leaf  every  day. 
Was  it  not  he  whom  the  small  boys  of  Athens 
reared  in  little  wire  cages  hanging  on  a 
window-frame  ? 

Their  successors  in  Provence  and  all  over 
the  south  have  the  same  tastes.  In  the  towns, 
a  Cricket  becomes  the  child's  treasured  pos- 
session. The  insect,  petted  and  pampered, 
tells  him  in  its  ditty  of  the  simple  joys 
of  the  country.  Its  death  throws  the  whole 
household  into  a  sort  of  mourning. 

Well,  these  recluses,  these  compulsory 
celibates,  live  to  be  patriarchs.  They  keep 
fit  and  well  long  after  their  cronies  in  the 
fields  have  succumbed;  and  they  go  on  sing- 
ing till  September.  Those  additional  three 
months,  a  long  space  of  time,  double  their 
existence  in  the  adult  form. 
344 


The  Cricket:  the  Pairing 

The  cause  of  this  longevity  is  obvious. 
Nothing  wears  one  out  so  quickly  as  life. 
The  wild  Crickets  have  gaily  spent  their  re- 
serves of  energy  on  the  ladies;  the  more 
fervent  their  ardour,  the  speedier  their  dis- 
solution. The  others,  their  incarcerated 
kinsmen,  leading  a  very  quiet  life,  have  ac- 
quired a  further  period  of  existence  by 
reason  of  their  forced  abstinence  from  too 
costly  joys.  Having  neglected  to  perform 
the  superlative  duty  of  a  Cricket,  they  ob- 
stinately refuse  to  die  until  the  very  last 
moment. 

A  brief  study  of  the  three  other  Crickets 
of  my  neighbourhood  has  taught  me  nothing 
of  any  interest.  Possessing  no  fixed  abode, 
no  burrow,  they  wander  about  from  one  tem- 
porary shelter  to  another,  under  the  dry 
grass  or  in  the  cracks  of  the  clods.  They  all 
carry  the  same  musical  instrument  as  the 
Field  Cricket,  with  slight  variations  of  de- 
tail. Their  song  is  much  alike  in  all  cases, 
allowing  for  differences  of  size.  The  small- 
est of  the  family,  the  Bordeaux  Cricket, 
stridulates  outside  my  door,  under  the  cover 
of  the  box  borders.  He  even  ventures  into 
the  dark  corners  of  the  kitchen,  but  his  song 
is  so  faint  that  it  takes  a  very  attentive  ear 
345 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

to  hear  it  and  to  discover  at  last  where  the 
insect  lies  hidden. 

In  our  part  of  the  world,  we  do  not  have 
the  House  Cricket,  that  denizen  of  bakers' 
shops  and  rural  fireplaces.  But,  though  the 
crevices  under  the  hearthstones  in  my  village 
are  silent,  the  summer  nights  make  amends 
by  filling  the  country-side  with  a  charming 
symphony  unknown  in  the  north.  Spring, 
during  its  sunniest  hours,  has  the  Field 
Cricket  as  its  musician;  the  calm  summer 
nights  have  the  Italian  Cricket  (CEcanthus 
pellucenst  SCOP.).  One  diurnal,  the  other 
nocturnal,  they  share  the  fine  weather  be- 
tween them.  By  the  time  that  the  first  has 
ceased  to  sing,  it  is  not  long  before  the  other 
begins  his  serenade. 

The  Italian  Cricket  has  not  the  black 
dress  and  the  clumsy  shape  characteristic  of 
the  family.  He  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  slender, 
fragile  insect,  quite  pale,  almost  white,  as 
beseems  his  nocturnal  habits.  You  are  afraid 
of  crushing  him,  if  you  merely  take  him  in 
your  fingers.  He  leads  an  aerial  existence 
on  shrubs  of  every  kind,  or  on  the  taller 
grasses;  and  he  rarely  descends  to  earth. 
His  song,  the  sweet  music  of  the  still,  hot 
evenings  from  July  to  October,  begins  at 
346 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

sunset  and  continues  for  the  best  part  of  the 
night. 

This  song  is  known  to  everybody  here,  for 
the  smallest  clump  of  bushes  has  its  orches- 
tra. It  is  heard  even  in  the  granaries,  into 
which  the  insect  sometimes  strays,  attracted 
by  the  fodder.  But  the  pale  Cricket's  ways 
are  so  mysterious  that  nobody  knows  exactly 
the  source  of  the  serenade,  which  is  very 
erroneously  ascribed  to  the  Common  Black 
Cricket,  who  at  this  period  is  quite  young 
and  silent. 

The  song  is  a  soft,  slow  gri-i-i,  gri-i-i, 
which  is  rendered  more  expressive  by  a  slight 
tremolo.  On  hearing  it,  we  divine  both  the 
extreme  delicacy  and  the  size  of  the  vibrating 
membranes.  If  nothing  happen  to  disturb 
the  insect,  settled  in  the  lower  leaves,  the 
sound  remains  unaltered;  but,  at  the  least 
noise,  the  executant  becomes  a  ventriloquist. 
You  heard  him  here,  quite  close,  in  front  of 
you;  and  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  you  hear  him 
over  there,  fifteen  yards  away,  continuing 
his  ditty  softened  by  distance. 

You  move  across.     Nothing.    The  sound 

comes    from    the    original    place.     No,    it 

doesn't,  after  all.     This  time,  it  is  coming 

from  over  there,  on  the  left,  or  rather  from 

347 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  right;  or  is  it  from  behind?  We  are 
absolutely  at  a  loss,  quite  unable  to  guide 
ourselves  by  the  ear  towards  the  spot  where 
the  insect  is  chirping. 

It  needs  a  fine  stock  of  patience  and  the 
most  minute  precautions  to  capture  the  singer 
by  the  light  of  a  lantern.  The  few  speci- 
mens caught  under  these  conditions  and 
caged  have  supplied  me  with  the  little  that  I 
know  about  the  musician  who  is  so  clever  at 
baffling  our  ears. 

The  wing-cases  are  both  formed  of  a 
broad,  dry,  diaphanous  membrane,  fine  as  a 
white  onion-skin  and  capable  of  vibrating 
throughout  its  whole  area.  They  are  shaped 
like  a  segment  of  a  circle  thinning  towards 
the  upper  end.  This  segment  folds  back  at 
right  angles  along  a  prominent  longitudinal 
vein  and  forms  a  flap  which  encloses  the 
insect's  side  when  at  rest. 

The  right  wing-case  lies  above  the  left. 
Its  inner  edge  bears  underneath,  near  the 
root,  a  knob  which  is  the  starting-point  of 
five  radiating  veins,  of  which  two  run  up- 
wards, two  downwards  and  the  fifth  almost 
transversely.  The  last-named,  which  is 
slightly  reddish,  is  the  main  part,  in  short 
the  bow,  as  is  shown  by  the  fine  notches  cut 
348 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

across  it.  The  rest  of  the  wing-case  presents 
a  few  other  veins  of  minor  importance, 
which  keep  the  membrane  taut  without  form- 
ing part  of  the  friction-apparatus. 

The  left  or  lower  wing-case  is  similarly 
constructed,  with  this  difference  that  the  bow, 
the  knob  and  the  veins  radiating  from  it  now 
occupy  the  upper  surface.  We  find,  more- 
over, that  the  two  bows,  the  right  and  the 
left,  cross  each  other  obliquely. 

When  the  song  has  its  full  volume,  the 
wing-cases,  raised  high  up  and  resembling  a 
pair  of  large  gauze  sails,  touch  only  at  their 
inner  edges.  Then  the  two  bows  fit  into 
each  other  slantwise  and  their  mutual  fric- 
tion produces  the  sonorous  vibration  of  the 
two  stretched  membranes. 

The  sound  appears  to  be  modified  accord- 
ing as  the  strokes  of  each  bow  bear  upon 
the  knob,  which  is  itself  wrinkled,  on  the  op- 
posite wing-case,  or  upon  one  of  the  four 
smooth  radiating  veins.  This  would  go 
some  way  towards  explaining  the  illusions 
produced  by  music  which  seems  to  come  from 
here,  there  and  everywhere  when  the  timid 
insect  becomes  distrustful. 

The  illusion  of  loud  or  soft,  open  or  muf- 
fled sounds  and  consequently  of  distance, 

349 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

which  forms  the  chief  resource  of  the  ven- 
triloquist's art,  has  another,  easily  discovered 
source.  For  the  open  sounds,  the  wing- 
cases  are  raised  to  their  full  height;  for  the 
muffled  sounds,  they  are  lowered  more  or 
less.  In  the  latter  position,  their  outer  edges 
press  to  a  varying  extent  upon  the  insect's 
yielding  sides,  thus  more  or  less  decreasing 
the  vibratory  surface  and  reducing  the 
volume  of  sound. 

A  gentle  touch  with  one's  finger  stifles  the 
sound  of  a  ringing  wine-glass  and  changes  it 
into  a  veiled,  indefinite  note  that  seems  to 
come  from  afar.  The  pale  Cricket  knows 
this  acoustic  secret.  He  misleads  those  who 
are  hunting  for  him  by  pressing  the  edges  of 
his  vibrating  flaps  against  his  soft  abdomen. 
Our  musical  instruments  have  their  dampers, 
their  sourdines;  that  of  CEcanthus  pellucens 
vies  with  and  surpasses  them  in  the  simpli- 
city of  its  method  and  the  perfection  of  its 
results. 

The  Field  Cricket  and  his  kinsmen  also 
employ  the  sourdine  by  clasping  their  ab- 
domen higher  or  lower  with  the  edge  of  their 
wing-cases;  but  none  of  them  obtains  from 
this  procedure  such  deceptive  effects  as  those 
of  the  Italian  Cricket. 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

In  addition  to  this  illusion  of  distance, 
which,  at  the  faintest  sound  of  footsteps,  is 
constantly  taking  us  by  surprise,  we  have  the 
purity  of  the  note,  with  its  soft  tremolo.  I 
know  no  prettier  or  more  limpid  insect  song, 
heard  in  the  deep  stillness  of  an  August 
evening.  How  often,  per  arnica  silentia 
luna*  have  I  lain  down  on  the  ground, 
screened  by  the  rosemary-bushes,  to  listen  to 
the  delicious  concert  of  the  harmas!  2 

The  nocturnal  Cricket  swarms  in  the  en- 
closure. Every  tuft  of  red-flowering  rock- 
rose  has  its  chorister;  so  has  every  clump  of 
lavender.  The  bushy  arbutus-shrubs,  the 
turpentine-trees,  all  become  orchestras.  And, 
with  its  clear  and  charming  voice,  the  whole 
of  this  little  world  is  sending  questions  and 
responses  from  shrub  to  shrub,  or  rather, 
indifferent  to  the  hymns  of  others,  chanting 
its  gladness  for  itself  alone. 

High  up,  immediately  above  my  head, 
the  Swan  stretches  its  great  cross  along 


1  "  Safe  under  covert  of  the  silent  night 

And  guided  by  the  imperial  galley's  light." 
— VIRGIL,  JEneid:  book  ii. ;  Dryden's  translation. 
3  The  enclosed  piece  of  waste  land,  adjoining  his  house 
at  Serignan,   in  which  the   author  used  to  study  his  in- 
sects in  their  natural  state.     Cf.   The  Life  of  the  Fly: 
chap.  i. — Translator's  Note. 

351 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  Milky  Way;  below,  all  around  me,  the 
insects'  symphony  rises  and  falls.  The  in- 
finitesimal telling  its  joys  makes  me  forget 
the  pageant  of  the  stars.  We  know  nothing 
of  those  celestial  eyes  which  look  down  upon 
us,  placid  and  cold,  with  scintillations  that 
are  like  blinking  eyelids.  Science  tells  us  of 
their  distance,  their  speed,  their  mass,  their 
volume;  it  overwhelms  us  with  enormous 
figures,  stupefies  us  with  immensities;  but 
it  does  not  succeed  in  stirring  a  fibre  within 
us.  Why?  Because  it  lacks  the  great 
secret,  that  of  life.  What  is  there  up 
there  ?  What  do  those  suns  warm  ?  Worlds 
like  ours,  reason  declares;  planets  whereon 
life  revolves  in  infinite  variety.  It  is  a  superb 
conception  of  the  universe,  but,  when  all  is 
said,  only  a  conception,  not  supported  by 
obvious  facts,  those  supreme  proofs  within 
the  reach  of  all.  The  probable,  the  ex- 
tremely probable,  is  not  the  manifest,  which 
forces  itself  upon  us  irresistibly  and  leaves 
no  room  for  doubt. 

In  your  company,  on  the  contrary,  O  my 
Crickets,  I  feel  the  throbbing  of  life,  which 
is  the  soul  of  our  lump  of  clay;  and  that  is 
why,  under  my  rosemary-hedge,  I  give  but  an 
absent  glance  at  the  constellation  of  the 
352 


The  Cricket:  the  Song 

Swan  and  devote  all  my  attention  to  your 
serenade !  A  dab  of  animated  glair,  capable 
of  pleasure  and  of  pain,  surpasses  in  interest 
the  immensity  of  brute  matter. 


353 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   LOCUSTS:   THEIR   FUNCTION;   THEIR 
ORGAN   OF   SOUND 

"  "|\/riND    you    are    ready,    children,    to- 

•*•*-*•  morrow  morning,  before  the  sun  gets 
too  hot:  we  are  going  Locust-hunting." 

This  announcement  throws  the  household 
into  great  excitement  at  bed-time.  What  do 
my  little  helpmates  see  in  their  dreams? 
Blue  wings,  red  wings,  suddenly  flung  out 
f anwise ;  long,  saw-toothed  legs,  pale-blue  or 
pink,  which  kick  out  when  we  hold  their 
owners  in  our  fingers;  great  shanks  acting  as 
springs  that  make  the  insect  leap  forward 
like  a  projectile  shot  from  some  dwarf 
catapult  hidden  in  the  grass. 

What  they  behold  in  sleep's  sweet  magic 
lantern  I  also  happen  to  see.  Life  lulls  us 
with  the  same  simple  things  in  its  first  stages 
and  its  last. 

If  there  be  one  peaceful  and  safe  form  of 
hunting,  one  that  comes  within  the  powers  of 

354 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

old  age  and  childhood  alike,  it  is  Locust- 
hunting.  Oh,  what  delicious  mornings  we 
owe  to  it !  What  happy  moments  when  the 
mulberries  are  black  and  allow  my  assistants 
to  go  pilfering  here  and  there  in  the  bushes ! 
What  memorable  excursions  on  the  slopes 
covered  with  sparse  grass,  tough  and  burnt 
yellow  by  the  sun !  I  retain  a  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  all  this ;  and  my  children  will  do  the 
same. 

Little  Paul  has  nimble  legs,  a  ready  hand 
and  a  piercing  eye.  He  inspects  the  clumps 
of  everlastings  where  the  Tryxalis  solemnly 
nods  his  sugar-loaf  head;  he  scrutinizes  the 
bushes  out  of  which  the  big  Grey  Locust 
suddenly  flies  like  a  little  bird  surprised  by 
the  hunter.  Great  disappointment  on  the 
part  of  the  latter,  who,  after  first  rushing  off 
at  full  speed,  stops  and  gazes  in  wonder  at 
this  mock  Swallow  flying  far  away.  He  will 
have  better  luck  another  time.  We  shall  not 
go  home  without  a  few  of  those  magnificent 
prizes. 

Younger  than  her  brother,  Marie  Pauline 
patiently  watches  for  the  Italian  Locust,  with 
his  pink  wings  and  carmine  hind-legs;  but 
she  really  prefers  another  jumper,  the  most 
elegantly  attired  of  all.  Her  favourite  wears 
355 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

a  St.  Andrew's  cross  on  the  small  of  his  back, 
which  is  marked  by  four  white,  slanting 
stripes.  His  livery  has  patches  of  verdigris, 
the  exact  colour  of  the  patina  on  old  bronze 
medals.  With  her  hand  raised  in  the  air, 
ready  to  swoop  down,  she  approaches  very 
softly,  stooping  low.  Whoosh !  That's  done 
it!  Quick,  a  screw  of  paper  to  receive 
the  treasure,  which,  thrust  head  first  into  the 
opening,  plunges  with  one  bound  to  the 
bottom  of  the  funnel. 

Thus  are  our  bags  distended  one  by  one; 
thus  are  our  boxes  filled.  Before  the  heat 
becomes  too  great  to  bear,  we  are  in  possess- 
ion of  a  number  of  varied  specimens  which, 
raised  in  captivity,  will  perhaps  teach  us 
something,  if  we  know  how  to  question  them. 
Thereupon  we  go  home  again.  The  Lo- 
cust has  made  three  people  happy  at  a  small 
cost. 

The  first  question  that  I  put  to  my  board- 
ers is  this : 

"  What  function  do  you  perform  in  the 
fields?" 

You  have  a  bad  reputation,  I  know;  the 

text-books  describe  you  as  noxious.    Do  you 

deserve  this  reproach?    I  take  the  liberty  of 

doubting  it,  except,  of  course,  in  the  case  of 

356 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

the  terrible  ravagers  who  form  the  scourge 
of  Africa  and  the  east. 

The  ill  repute  of  those  voracious  eaters 
has  left  its  mark  on  you  all,  though  I  look 
upon  you  as  much  more  useful  than  injuri- 
ous. Never,  so  far  as  I  know,  have  our 
peasants  complained  of  you.  What  damage 
could  they  lay  to  your  charge  ? 

You  nibble  the  tops  of  the  tough  grasses 
which  the  Sheep  refuses  to  touch;  you  prefer 
the  lean  swards  to  the  fat  pastures;  you 
browse  on  sterile  land  where  none  but  you 
would  find  the  wherewithal  to  feed  himself; 
you  live  upon  what  could  never  be  used 
without  the  aid  of  your  healthy  stomach. 

Besides,  by  the  time  that  you  frequent  the 
fields,  the  only  thing  that  might  tempt  you, 
the  green  wheat,  has  long  since  yielded  its 
grain  and  disappeared.  If  you  happen  to 
get  into  the  kitchen-gardens  and  levy  toll  on 
them  to  some  slight  extent,  it  is  not  a  rank 
offence.  A  man  can  console  himself  for  a 
piece  bitten  out  of  a  leaf  or  two  of  salad. 

To  measure  the  importance  of  things  by 
the  foot-rule  of  one's  own  turnip-patch  is  a 
horrible  method,  which  makes  us  forget  the 
essential  for  the  sake  of  a  trivial  detail.  The 
short-sighted  man  would  upset  the  order  of 

357 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  universe  rather  than  sacrifice  a  dozen 
plums.  If  he  thinks  of  the  insect  at  all,  it 
is  only  to  speak  of  its  extermination. 

Fortunately,  this  is  not  and  never  will  be 
in  his  power.  Look  at  the  consequences, 
for  instance,  of  the  disappearance  of  the  Lo- 
cust, who  is  accused  of  stealing  a  few  crumbs 
from  earth's  rich  table.  In  September  and 
October,  the  Turkeys  are  driven  into  the 
stubble-fields,  under  the  charge  of  a  child 
armed  with  two  long  reeds.  The  expanse 
over  which  the  gobbling  flock  slowly  spreads 
is  bare,  dry  and  burnt  by  the  sun.  At  the 
most,  a  few  ragged  thistles  raise  their  be- 
lated heads.  What  do  the  birds  do  in  a 
desert  like  this,  simply  reeking  with  famine  ? 
They  cram  themselves,  in  order  to  do  honour 
to  the  Christmas  table;  they  wax  fat;  their 
flesh  becomes  firm  and  appetizing.  With 
what,  pray?  With  Locusts,  whom  they  snap 
up  here  and  there,  a  delicious  stuffing  for 
their  greedy  crops.  This  autumnal  manna, 
which  costs  nothing  and  is  richly  flavoured, 
contributes  to  the  elaboration  and  the  im- 
provement of  the  succulent  roast  that  will  be 
so  largely  eaten  on  the  festive  evening. 

When  the  Guinea-fowl,  that  domesticated 
game-bird,  roams  around  the  farm,  uttering 
358 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

her  rasping  note,  what  is  it  that  she  seeks? 
Seeds,  no  doubt,  but,  above  all  things,  Lo- 
custs, who  puff  her  out  under  the  wings  with 
a  pad  of  fat  and  give  greater  flavour  to  her 
flesh. 

The  Hen,  much  to  our  advantage,  is  just 
as  fond  of  them.  She  well  knows  the  virtues 
of  that  dainty  dish,  which  acts  as  a  tonic  and 
increases  her  laying-capacity.  When  left  at 
liberty,  she  hardly  ever  fails  to  lead  her 
family  to  the  stubble-fields,  so  that  they  may 
learn  how  to  snap  up  the  exquisite  mouthful 
deftly.  In  fact,  all  the  denizens  of  the 
poultry-yard,  when  free  to  wander  about  at 
will,  owe  to  the  Locust  a  valuable  addition 
to  their  diet. 

It  becomes  a  much  more  important  matter 
outside  our  domestic  fowls.  If  you  are  a 
sportsman,  if  you  are  able  to  appreciate  the 
value  of  the  Red-legged  Partridge,  the  glory 
of  our  southern  hills,  open  the  crop  of  the 
bird  which  you  have  just  brought  down. 
You  will  see  that  it  contains  a  splendid  cer- 
tificate to  the  services  rendered  by  the  much- 
maligned  insect.  You  will  find  it,  nine  times 
out  of  ten,  more  or  less  crammed  with  Lo- 
custs. The  Partridge  dotes  on  them,  pre- 
fers them  to  seed  as  long  as  he  is  able  to 
359 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

catch  them.  This  highly-flavoured,  substan- 
tial, stimulating  fare  would  almost  make  him 
forget  the  existence  of  seeds,  if  it  were  only 
there  all  the  year  round. 

Let  us  now  consult  the  illustrious  black- 
footed  tribe,  so  warmly  celebrated  by  Tous- 
serel.1  The  head  of  the  family  is  the  Wheat- 
ear,  the  Cul-blanc*  as  the  Provencal  calls 
him,  who  grows  disgracefully  fat  in  Septem- 
ber and  supplies  delicious  material  for  the 
skewer.  At  the  time  when  I  used  to  indulge 
in  ornithological  expeditions,  I  made  a 
practice  of  jotting  down  the  contents  of 
the  birds'  crops  and  gizzards,  so  as  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  their  diet.  Here  is 
the  Wheatear's  bill  of  fare :  Locusts,  first  of 
all;  next,  many  various  kinds  of  Beetles,  such 
as  Weevils,  Opatra,  Chrysomelse,  or  Golden- 
apple-beetles,  Cassidae,  or  Tortoise-beetles, 
and  Harpali;  in  the  third  place,  Spiders, 
luli,3  Woodlice  and  small  Snails;  lastly  and 


1  Alphonse  Tousserel  (1803-1885),  author  of  a  number 
of  interesting  and  valuable  works  on  ornithology. — 
Translator's  Note. 

1  Also  known  as  the  Stone-chat,  Fallow-chat,  Whin- 
chat,  Fallow-finch  and  White-tail,  which  last  corresponds 
with  the  Cul-blanc  of  the  Provencal  dialect.  The 
French  name  for  this  Saxicola  is  the  Motteux,  or  Clod- 
hopper.— Translator's  Note. 

*  Wormlike  Millepedes. — Translator's  Note. 
360 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

rarely,  bramble-berries  and  the  berries  of 
the  Cornelian  cherry. 

As  you  see,  there  is  a  little  of  all  kinds  of 
small  game,  just  as  it  comes.  The  insect- 
eater  does  not  turn  his  attention  to  berries 
except  in  the  last  resort,  at  seasons  of  dearth. 
Out  of  forty-eight  cases  mentioned  in  my 
notes,  vegetable  food  appears  only  three 
times,  in  trifling  proportions.  The  predomi- 
nant item,  both  as  regards  frequency  and 
quantity,  is  the  Locust,  the  smaller  specimens 
being  chosen,  in  order  not  to  tax  the  bird's 
swallowing-powers. 

Even  so  with  the  other  little  birds  of  pass- 
age which,  when  autumn  comes,  call  a  halt 
in  Provence  and  prepare  for  the  great  pil- 
grimage by  accumulating  on  their  rumps  a 
travelling-allowance  of  fat.  All  of  them 
feast  on  the  Locust,  that  rich  fare;  all,  in 
the  waste  lands  and  fallows,  gather  as  best 
they  can  the  hopping  tit-bit,  that  source  of 
vigour  for  flying.  Locusts  are  the  manna  of 
little  birds  on  their  autumnal  journey. 

Nor  does  man  himself  scorn  them.  An 
Arab  author  quoted  by  General  Daumas  l  in 
his  book,  Le  Grand  desert,  tells  us : 

1  General  Eugene  Daumas    (1803-1871),  the  author  of 
several  works  on  Algeria. — Translator's  Note. 
361 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

"  Grasshoppers 1  are  of  good  nourishment 
for  men  and  Camels.  Their  claws,  wings 
and  head  are  taken  away  and  they  are 
eaten  fresh  or  dried,  either  roast  or  boiled 
and  served  with  flesh,  flour  and  herbs. 

u  When  dried,  in  the  sun,  they  are  ground 
to  powder  and  mixed  with  milk  or  kneaded 
with  flour;  and  they  are  then  cooked  with 
fat  or  with  butter  and  salt. 

"  Camels  eat  them  greedily  and  are  given 
them  dried  or  roast,  heaped  in  a  hollow  be- 
tween two  layers  of  charcoal.  Thus  also  do 
the  Nubians  eat  them. 

"When  Miriam2  prayed  God  that  she 
might  eat  flesh  unpolluted  by  blood,  God 
sent  her  Grasshoppers. 

"  When  the  wives  of  the  Prophet  were 
sent  Grasshoppers  as  a  gift,  they  placed  some 
of  these  in  baskets  and  sent  them  to  other 
women. 

"  Once,  when  the  Caliph  Omar  was  asked 
if  it  were  lawful  to  eat  Grasshoppers,  he 
made  answer: 

"  *  Would  that  I  had  a  basket  of  them  to 
eat!' 

1  More  correctly  the  Locust,  not  to  be  confused  with 
the  true  Grasshopper,  who  carries  a  sabre. — Author's 
Note. 

*  The  Blessed  Virgin  Mary. — Author's  Note. 
362 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

"  Wherefore,  from  this  testimony,  it  is 
very  sure  that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Grass- 
hoppers were  given  to  man  for  his  nourish- 
ment." 

Without  going  so  far  as  the  Arab  natural- 
ist, which  would  presuppose  a  power  of 
digestion  not  bestowed  on  every  man,  I  feel 
entitled  to  say  that  the  Locust  is  a  gift  of 
God  to  a  multitude  of  birds,  as  witness  the 
long  array  of  gizzards  which  I  consulted. 

Many  others,  notably  the  reptile,  hold 
him  in  esteem.  I  have  found  him  in  the  belly 
of  the  Rassado,  that  terror  of  the  small  girls 
of  Provence,  I  mean  the  Eyed  Lizard,  who 
loves  rocky  shelters  turned  into  a  furnace  by 
a  torrid  sun.  And  I  have  often  caught  the 
little  Grey  Lizard  of  the  walls  in  the  act 
of  carrying  off,  in  his  tapering  snout,  the 
spolia  opima  of  some  long-awaited  Acridian. 

Even  fish  revel  in  him,  when  good  fortune 
brings  him  to  them.  The  Locust's  leap  has 
no  definite  goal.  A  projectile  discharged 
blindly,  the  insect  comes  down  wherever  the 
unpremeditated  release  of  its  springs  shoots 
it.  If  the  place  where  it  falls  happen  to  be 
the  water,  a  fish  is  there  at  once  to  gobble 
up  the  dripping  victim.  It  is  sometimes  a 
363 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

fatal  dainty,  for  anglers  use  the  Locust  when 
they  wish  to  bait  their  hook  with  a  particu- 
larly attractive  morsel. 

Without  expatiating  further  on  the 
devourers  of  this  small  game,  I  can  clearly 
see  the  great  usefulness  of  the  Acridian  who 
by  successive  leaps  transmits  to  man,  that 
most  wasteful  of  eaters,  the  lean  grass  now 
converted  into  exquisite  fare.  Gladly  there- 
fore would  I  say,  with  the  Arab  writer : 

"  Wherefore,  from  this  testimony,  it  is 
very  sure  that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Grass- 
hoppers were  given  to  man  for  his  nourish- 
ment." 

One  thing  alone  makes  me  hesitate:  the 
direct  consumption  of  the  Locust.  As  re- 
gards indirect  consumption,  under  the  form 
of  Partridge,  young  Turkey  and  others,  none 
will  think  of  denying  him  his  praises.  Is 
direct  consumption  then  so  unpleasant? 
That  was  not  the  opinion  of  Omar,1  the 
mighty  caliph,  the  destroyer  of  the  library 
of  Alexandria.  His  stomach  was  as  rude 
as  his  intellect;  and,  by  his  own  account,  he 


1  Omar,  the  second  caliph  and  the  first  to  assume  the 
title  of  Commander  of  the  Faithful,  reigned  from  634 
to  his  death  in  644.  The  Alexandrian  library  was  burnt 
in  640. — Translator's  Note. 

364 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

would  have  relished  a  basket  of  Grass- 
hoppers. 

Long  before  him,  others  were  content  to 
eat  them,  though  in  this  case  it  was  a  wise 
frugality.  Clad  in  his  Camel's-hair  garment, 
St.  John  the  Baptist,  the  bringer  of  good 
tidings  and  the  great  stirrer  of  the  populace 
in  the  days  of  Herod,  lived  in  the  desert  on 
Grasshoppers  and  wild  honey : 

"  And  his  meat  was  locusts  and  wild 
honey,"  says  the  Gospel  according  to  St. 
Matthew. 

Wild  honey  I  know,  if  only  from  the  pots 
of  the  Chalicodoma.1  It  is  a  very  agreeable 
food.  There  remains  the  Grasshopper  of 
the  desert,  otherwise  the  Locust.  In  my 
youth,  like  every  small  boy,  I  appreciated 
a  Grasshopper's  leg,  which  I  used  to  eat 
raw.  It  is  not  without  flavour.  To-day  let 
us  rise  a  peg  higher  and  try  the  fare  of  Omar 
and  St.  John  the  Baptist. 

I  capture  some  fat  Locusts  and  have  them 
cooked  in  a  very  rough  and  ready  fashion, 
fried  with  butter  and  salt,  as  the  Arab 
author  prescribes.  We  all  of  us,  big  and 
little,  partake  of  the  queer  dish  at  dinner. 

1  Cf.  The  Mason-bees:  passim. — Translator's  Note. 
365 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

We  pronounce  favourably  upon  the  caliph's 
delicacy.  It  is  far  superior  to  the  Cicadae 
extolled  by  Aristotle.  It  has  a  certain 
shrimpy  flavour,  a  taste  that  reminds  one  of 
grilled  Crab ;  and,  were  it  not  that  the  shell 
is  very  tough  for  such  slight  edible  contents, 
I  would  go  to  the  length  of  saying  that  it  is 
good,  without,  however,  feeling  any  desire 
for  more. 

My  curiosity  as  a  naturalist  has  now  twice 
allowed  itself  to  be  tempted  by  the  dishes  of 
antiquity:  Cicadas  first;  Locusts  next. 
Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  roused  my 
enthusiasm.  We  must  leave  these  things  to 
the  powerful  jaws  of  the  negroes  and  the 
huge  appetite  of  which  the  famous  caliph 
gave  proof. 

The  queasiness  of  our  stomachs,  however, 
in  no  way  decreases  the  Locusts'  merits. 
Those  little  browsers  of  the  burnt  grass  play 
a  great  part  in  the  workshop  where  our  food 
is  prepared.  They  swarm  in  vast  legions 
which  roam  over  the  barren  wastes,  pecking 
here  and  there,  turning  what  could  not 
otherwise  be  used  into  a  foodstuff  which  is 
passed  on  to  a  host  of  consumers,  including, 
first  and  foremost,  the  bird  that  often  falls 
to  man's  share. 

366 


The  Locusts:  their  Function 

Pricked  relentlessly  by  the  needs  of  the 
stomach,  the  world  knows  no  more  impera- 
tive duty  than  the  acquisition  of  food.  To 
secure  a  seat  in  the  refectory,  each  animal 
expends  its  sum  total  of  activity,  industry, 
toil,  trickery  and  strife;  and  the  general  ban- 
quet, which  should  be  a  joy,  is  to  many  a 
torment.  Man  is  far  from  escaping  the 
miseries  of  the  struggle  for  food.  On  the 
contrary,  only  too  often  he  tastes  them  in  all 
their  bitterness. 

Ingenious  as  he  is,  will  he  succeed  in  free- 
ing himself  from  them?  Science  says  yes. 
Chemistry  promises,  in  the  near  future,  a 
solution  of  the  problem  of  subsistence.  The 
sister  science,  physics,  is  preparing  the  way. 
Already  it  is  contemplating  how  to  get  more 
and  better  work  done  by  the  sun,  that  great 
sluggard  who  thinks  that  he  has  done  his 
duty  by  us  when  he  sweetens  our,  grapes  and 
ripens  our  corn.  It  will  bottle  his  heat, 
garner  his  rays,  in  order  to  control  them  and 
employ  them  where  we  think  fit. 

With  these  supplies  of  energy,  the  hearths 
will  blaze,  the  wheels  will  turn,  the  pestles 
pound,  the  graters  grate,  the  rollers  grind; 
and  the  work  of  agriculture,  so  wasteful  at 
present,  thwarted  as  it  is  by  the  inclemency 
367 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

of  the  seasons,  will  become  factory-work, 
yielding  economical  and  safe  returns. 

Then  chemistry  will  step  in,  with  its  legion 
of  cunning  reagents.  It  will  turn  every- 
thing into  nutritious  matter,  in  a  highly  con- 
centrated form,  capable  of  being  assimilated 
in  its  entirety  and  leaving  hardly  any  foul 
residue.  A  loaf  of  bread  will  be  a  pill;  a 
rumpsteak  a  drop  of  jelly.  Of  agricultural 
labour,  the  inferno  of  barbarian  times,  no- 
thing will  remain  but  a  memory,  of  interest 
only  to  the  historians.  The  last  Sheep  and 
the  last  Ox  will  figure,  neatly  stuffed,  as  curi- 
osities in  our  museums,  together  with  the 
Mammoth  dug  up  from  the  Siberian  ice- 
fields. 

All  that  old  lumber — herds  and  flocks, 
seeds,  fruits  and  vegetables — is  doomed  to 
disappear  some  day.  Progress  demands  it, 
we  are  told;  and  the  chemist's  retort,  which, 
in  its  presumptuous  fashion,  recognizes  no- 
thing as  impossible,  repeats  the  assertion. 

This  golden  age  of  foodstuffs  leaves  me 
very  incredulous.  When  it  is  a  question  of 
obtaining  some  new  toxin,  science  displays 
alarming  ingenuity.  Our  laboratory  collec- 
tions are  veritable  arsenals  of  poisons. 
When  the  object  is  to  invent  a  still  in  which 
368 


The  Locusts:  their  Organ  of  Sound 

potatoes  shall  be  made  to  yield  torrents  of 
alcohol  capable  of  turning  us  into  a  nation 
of  sots,  the  resources  of  industry  know  no 
limits.  But  to  procure  by  artificial  means  a 
single  mouthful  of  really  nourishing  matter  is 
a  very  different  business.  Never  has  any  such 
product  simmered  in  our  retorts.  The  fu- 
ture, beyond  a  doubt,  will  do  no  better.  Or- 
ganized matter,  the  only  true  food,  escapes 
the  formulae  of  the  laboratory.  Its  chemist 
is  life. 

We  shall  do  well  therefore  to  preserve 
agriculture  and  our  herds.  Let  us  leave  our 
nourishment  to  be  prepared  by  the  patient 
work  of  plants  and  animals,  let  us  mistrust 
the  brutal  factory  and  keep  our  confidence 
for  more  delicate  methods  and,  in  particu- 
lar, for  the  Locust's  stomach,  which  assists 
in  the  making  of  the  Christmas  Turkey. 
That  stomach  has  culinary  receipts  which  the 
chemist's  retort  will  always  envy  without 
succeeding  in  imitating  them. 

This  picker-up  of  nutritive  trifles,  des- 
tined to  support  a  crowd  of  paupers,  pos- 
sesses musical  powers  wherewith  to  express 
his  joys.  Consider  a  Locust  at  rest,  bliss- 
fully digesting  his  meal  and  enjoying  the 
sunshine.  With  sharp  strokes  of  the  bow, 
369 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

three  or  four  times  repeated  and  spaced  with 
pauses,  he  sings  his  ditty.  He  scrapes  his 
sides  with  his  great  hind-legs,  using  now  one, 
now  the  other,  anon  both  at  a  time. 

The  result  is  very  poor,  so  slight  indeed 
that  I  am  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  little 
Paul's  ear  in  order  to  make  sure  that  there 
is  a  sound  at  all.  Such  as  it  is,  it  resembles 
the  creaking  of  the  point  of  a  needle  pushed 
across  a  sheet  of  paper.  There  you  have  the 
whole  song,  so  near  akin  to  silence. 

There  is  nothing  more  to  be  expected  from 
so  rudimentary  an  instrument.  We  have  no- 
thing here  similar  to  what  the  Grasshopper 
clan  have  shown  us:  no  toothed  bow,  no 
vibrating  membrane  stretched  into  a  drum. 
Let  us,  for  instance,  take  a  look  at  the 
Italian  Locust  (Caloptenus  itahcus,  LIN.), 
whose  apparatus  of  sound  is  repeated  in  the 
other  stridulating  Acridians.  His  hinder 
thighs  are  keel-shaped  above  and  below. 
Each  surface,  moreover,  has  two  powerful 
longitudinal  nervures.  Between  these  main 
parts  there  is,  in  either  case,  a  graduated 
row  of  smaller,  chevron-shaped  nervures; 
and  the  whole  thing  is  as  prominent  and  as 
plainly  marked  on  this  outer  side  as  on  the 
inner  one.  And  what  surprises  me  even 
370 


The  Locusts:  their  Orgaji  of  Sound 

more  than  this  similarity  between  the  two 
surfaces  is  that  all  these  nervures  are  smooth. 
Lastly,  the  lower  edge  of  the  wing-cases,  the 
edge  rubbed  by  the  thighs  which  serve  as  a 
bow,  also  has  nothing  particular  about  it. 
We  see,  as  indeed  we  do  all  over  the  wing- 
cases,  nervures  that  are  powerful  but  de- 
void of  any  rasping  roughness  or  the  least 
denticulation. 

What  can  this  artless  attempt  at  a  musical 
instrument  produce  ?  Just  as  much  as  a  dry 
membrane  will  emit  when  you  rub  it.  And 
for  the  sake  of  this  trifle  the  insect  lifts  and 
lowers  its  thighs,  in  sharp  jerks,  and  is  satis- 
fied with  the  result.  It  rubs  its  sides  very 
much  as  we  rub  our  hands  together  in  sign 
of  contentment,  with  no  intention  of  making 
a  sound.  That  is  its  own  particular  way  of 
expressing  its  joy  in  life. 

Examine  it  when  the  sky  is  partly  ob- 
scured and  the  sun  shines  intermittently. 
There  comes  a  rift  in  the  clouds.  Forthwith 
the  thighs  begin  to  scrape,  increasing  their 
activity  as  the  sun  grows  hotter.  The  strains 
are  very  brief,  but  they  are  renewed  so  long 
as  the  sunshine  continues.  The  sky  becomes 
overcast.  Then  and  there  the  song  ceases, 
to  be  resumed  with  the  next  gleam  of  sun- 
371 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

light,  always  in  brief  spasms.  There  is  no 
mistaking  it:  here,  in  these  fond  lovers  of 
the  light,  we  have  a  mere  expression  of  hap- 
piness. The  Locust  has  his  moments  of 
gaiety  when  his  crop  is  full  and  the  sun 
benign. 

Not  all  the  Acridians  indulge  in  this  joy- 
ous rubbing.  The  Trv^calis  ( Truxalis  nasuta, 
LIN.),  who  sports  a  pair  of  immensely  elon- 
gated hind-legs,  maintains  a  gloomy  silence 
even  under  the  most  vigorous  caresses  of  the 
sun.  I  have  never  seen  him  move  his  shanks 
like  a  bow;  he  seems  unable  to  use  them — 
so  long  are  they — for  anything  but  hopping. 

Dumb  likewise,  apparently  as  a  conse- 
quence of  the  excessive  length  of  his  hind- 
legs,  the  big  Grey  Locust  (Pachytilus 
cinerescens,  FABR.)  has  a  peculiar  way  of 
diverting  himself.  The  giant  often  visits  me 
in  the  enclosure,  even  in  the  depth  of  winter. 
In  calm  weather,  when  the  sun  is  hot,  I  sur- 
prise him  in  the  rosemaries,  with  his  wings 
unfurled  and  fluttering  rapidly  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  at  a  time,  as  though  for  flight. 
His  twirling  is  so  gentle,  in  spite  of  its  ex- 
treme speed,  as  to  create  hardly  a  percepti- 
ble rustle. 

Others  still  are  much  less  well-endowed. 

372 


The  Locusts:  their  Organ  of  Sound 

One  such  is  the  Pedestrian  Locust  (Pezo- 
tettix  pedestris,  LIN.),  the  companion  of  the 
Alpine  Analota  on  the  ridges  of  the  Ven- 
toux.  This  foot-passenger  strolling  amid 
the  paronychias  (P.  serpyllifola)  which  lie 
spread  in  silvery  expanses  over  the  Alpine 
region;  this  short-jacketed  hopper,  the 
guest  of  the  androsaces  (A.  villosa),  whose 
tiny  flowers,  white  as  the  neighbouring  snows, 
smile  from  out  of  their  rosy  eyes,  has  the 
same  fresh  colouring  as  the  plants  around 
him.  The  sunlight,  less  veiled  in  mists  in 
the  loftier  regions,  has  made  him  a  costume 
combining  beauty  and  simplicity:  a  pale- 
brown  satin  back;  a  yellow  abdomen;  big 
thighs  coral-red  below;  hind-legs  a  glori- 
ous azure-blue,  with  an  ivory  anklet  in 
front.  But,  being  incapable  of  going  beyond 
the  larval  form,  this  dandy  remains  short- 
coated. 

He  has  for  wing-cases  two  wrinkled  slips, 
distant  one  from  the  other  and  hardly  cover- 
ing the  first  segment  of  the  abdomen,  and 
for  wings  two  stumps  that  are  even  more 
abbreviated.  All  this  hardly  covers  his  na- 
kedness down  to  the  waist.  Any  one  seeing 
him  for  the  first  time  takes  him  for  a  larva 
and  is  wrong.  It  is  indeed  the  adult  insect, 
373 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

ripe  for  mating;  and  the  insect  will  remain 
in  this  undress  to  the  end. 

Is  it  necessary  to  add  that,  with  this 
skimpy  jacket,  stridulation  is  impossible? 
The  big  hind-thighs  are  there,  it  is  true ;  but 
what  is  lacking,  for  them  to  rub  upon,  is  the 
grating  surface,  the  edge  of  the  wing-cases. 
Whereas  the  other  Locusts  are  not  to  be  de- 
scribed as  noisy,  this  one  is  absolutely 
dumb.  In  vain  have  the  most  delicate  ears 
around  me  listened  with  might  and  main: 
there  has  never  been  the  least  sound  during 
the  three  months'  home  breeding.  This  si- 
lent one  must  have  other  means  of  ex- 
pressing his  joys  and  summoning  his  partner 
to  the  wedding.  What  are  they?  I  do  not 
know. 

Nor  do  I  know  why  the  insect  deprives 
itself  of  wings  and  remains  a  plodding  way- 
farer, when  its  near  kinsmen,  on  the  same 
Alpine  swards,  are  excellently  equipped  for 
flight.  It  possesses  the  germs  of  wing  and 
wing-case,  gifts  which  the  egg  gives  to  the 
larva ;  and  it  does  not  think  of  using  these 
germs  by  developing  them.  It  persists  in. 
hopping,  with  no  further  ambition ;  it  is  satis- 
fied to  go  on  foot,  to  remain  a  Pedestrian 
Locust,  as  the  nomenclators  call  it,  when  it 

374 


The  Locusts:  their  Organ  of  Sound 

might,  one  would  think,  acquire  wings,  that 
higher  mechanism  of  locomotion. 

Rapid  flitting  from  crest  to  crest,  over  the 
valleys  deep  in  snow;  easy  flight  from  a 
shorn  pasture  to  one  not  yet  exploited:  can 
these  be  negligible  advantages  to  the  Pedes- 
trian Locust?  Obviously  not.  The  other 
Acridians  and  in  particular  his  fellow- 
dwellers  on  the  mountain-tops  possess  wings 
and  are  all  the  better  for  them.  What  is 
his  reason  for  not  doing  as  they  do?  It 
would  be  very  profitable  to  extract  from 
their  sheaths  the  sails  which  he  keeps  packed 
away  in  useless  stumps;  and  he  does  not  do 
it.  Why? 

"  Arrested  development,"  says  some  one. 

Very  well.  Life  is  arrested  half-way 
through  its  work;  the  insect  does  not  attain 
the  ultimate  form  of  which  it  bears  the  em- 
blem. For  all  its  scientific  turn  of  phrase, 
the  reply  is  not  really  a  reply  at  all.  The 
question  returns  under  another  guise:  what 
causes  that  arrested  development? 

The  larva  is  born  with  the  hope  of  flying 
at  maturity.  As  a  pledge  of  that  fair  future, 
it  carries  on  its  back  four  sheaths  in  which 
the  precious  germs  lie  slumbering.  Every- 
thing is  arranged  according  to  the  rules  of 
375 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

normal  evolution.  Thereupon,  suddenly, 
the  organism  does  not  fulfil  its  promises;  it 
is  false  to  its  engagements;  it  leaves  the 
adult  insect  without  sails,  leaves  it  with  only 
useless  rags. 

Are  we  to  lay  this  nudity  to  the  charge 
of  the  harsh  conditions  of  Alpine  life  ?  Not 
at  all,  for  the  other  hoppers,  living  on  the 
same  grassy  slopes,  manage  very  well  to 
achieve  the  wings  foretold  by  the  larva's 
rudiments. 

Men  tell  us  that,  from  one  attempt  to  an- 
other, from  progress  to  progress,  under  the 
stimulus  of  necessity,  animals  end  by  ac- 
quiring this  or  that  organ.  No  other  crea- 
tive intervention  is  accepted  than  that  of 
need.  This,  for  instance,  is  the  way  in 
which  the  Locusts  went  to  work,  in  particu- 
lar those  whom  I  see  fluttering  over  the 
ridges  of  the  Ventoux.  From  their  nig- 
gardly larval  flaps  they  are  supposed  to  have 
extracted  wings  and  wing-cases,  by  virtue 
of  secret  and  mysterious  labours  rendered 
fruitful  by  the  centuries. 

Very  well,  O  my  illustrious  masters !  And 
now  tell  me,  if  you  please,  what  reasons  per- 
suaded the  Pedestrian  Locust  not  to  go  be- 
yond his  rude  outline  of  a  flying-apparatus. 
376 


The  Locusts:  their  Organ  of  Sound 

He  also,  surely,  must  have  felt  the  prick  of 
necessity  for  ages  and  ages ;  during  his  la- 
borious tumbles  amid  the  broken  stones,  he 
must  have  felt  the  advantage  that  it  would 
be  for  him  to  be  relieved  of  his  weight  by 
means  of  wing-power;  and  all  the  endeavours 
of  his  organism,  striving  to  achieve  a  better 
lot,  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  spreading 
bladewise  his  incipient  wings. 

If  we  accept  your  theories,  under  the  same 
conditions  of  urgent  necessity,  diet,  climate 
and  habits,  some  are  successful  and  manage 
to  fly,  others  fail  and  remain  clumsy  pedes- 
trians. Short  of  resting  satisfied  with  words 
and  passing  off  chalk  for  cheese,  I  abandon 
the  explanations  offered.  Sheer  ignorance 
is  far  preferable,  for  it  prejudges  nothing. 

But  let  us  leave  this  backward  one  who 
is  a  stage  behind  his  kinsmen,  no  one  knows 
why.  Anatomy  has  its  throwbacks,  its  halts, 
its  sudden  leaps,  all  of  which  defy  our  curi- 
osity. In  the  presence  of  the  unfathomable 
problem  of  origins,  the  best  thing  is  to  bow 
in  all  humility  and  pass  on. 


377 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   LOCUSTS:   THEIR   EGGS 

\T7HAT  can  our  Locusts  do ?  Not  much 
*  *  in  the  way  of  manufactures.  Their 
business  in  the  world  is  that  of  alchemists 
who  in  their  gourdlike  stomach  elaborate 
and  refine  material  destined  for  higher  ob- 
jects. As  I  sit  by  my  fireside,  in  the  evening 
hours  of  meditation,  scribbling  these  notes 
upon  the  part  which  Locusts  play  in  life,  I 
am  not  prepared  to  say  that  they  have  not 
contributed  from  time  to  time  to  the  awaken- 
ing of  thought,  that  magic  mirror  of  things. 
They  are  on  the  earth  to  thrive  as  best  they 
can  and  to  multiply,  the  latter  being  the 
highest  law  of  animals  charged  with  the 
manufacture  of  foodstuffs. 

From  the  former  point  of  view,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  all-devouring  tribes  which  at  times 
imperil  the  very  existence  of  Africa,  the  Lo- 
custs hardly  attract  our  attention.  They  are 
poor  trenchermen ;  and  I  can  surfeit  a  whole 
378 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

barrack-room  in  my  cages  with  a  leaf  of  let- 
tuce. As  for  the  way  in  which  they  multiply, 
that  is  another  matter  and  one  well  worth  a 
moment's  attention. 

At  the  same  time  we  must  not  look  for 
the  nuptial  eccentricities  of  the  Grasshoppers. 
Despite  close  similarity  of  structure,  we  are 
here  in  a  new  world  as  regards  habits  and 
character.  In  the  peaceful  Locust  clan,  all 
that  has  to  do  with  pairing  is  correct,  free 
from  impropriety  and  conducted  in  accord- 
ance with  the  customary  rites  of  the  ento- 
mological world.  Any  one  keeping  it  under 
observation  at  the  time  of  the  procreative 
frenzy  will  realize  that  the  Locust  came 
later  than  the  Grasshopper,  after  the  primi- 
tive Orthopteron  had  sown  his  monstrous 
wild  oats.  There  is  nothing  striking  to  be 
said  therefore  on  this  always  delicate  sub- 
ject; and  I  am  very  glad  of  it.  Let  us  pass 
on  and  come  to  the  eggs. 

At  the  end  of  August,  a  little  before  noon- 
day, let  us  keep  a  close  watch  on  the  Italian 
Locust  (Caloptenus  italicus,  LIN.),  the  bold- 
est hopper  of  my  neighbourhood.  He  is  a 
sturdy  fellow,  very  free  with  his  kicks;  and 
he  is  clad  in  short  wing-cases  that  hardly 
reach  the  tip  of  his  abdomen.  His  costume 
379 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

is  usually  russet,  with  brown  patches.  A 
few  more  elegant  ones  edge  the  corselet 
with  a  whitish  hem  which  is  prolonged  over 
the  head  and  wing-cases.  The  wings  are 
colourless  except  at  the  base,  where  they  are 
pink;  the  hinder  shins  are  claret-coloured. 

The  mother  selects  a  suitable  spot  for  her 
eggs  on  the  side  where  the  sun  is  hottest  and 
always  at  the  edge  of  the  cage,  whose  wire- 
work  supplies  her  with  a  support  in  case  of 
need.  Slowly  and  laboriously  she  drives  her 
clumsy  drill  perpendicularly  into  the  sand, 
this  drill  being  her  abdomen,  which  disap- 
pears entirely.  In  the  absence  of  proper 
boring-tools,  the  descent  underground  is 
painful  and  hesitating,  but  is  at  last  accom- 
plished thanks  to  perseverance,  that  powerful 
lever  of  the  weak. 

The  mother  is  now  installed,  half-buried 
in  the  soil.  She  gives  slight  starts,  which 
follow  one  another  at  regular  intervals  and 
seem  to  correspond  with  the  efforts  of  the 
oviduct  as  it  expels  the  eggs.  The  neck 
gives  throbs  that  lift  and  lower  the  head 
with  slight  jerks.  Apart  from  these  pulsa- 
tions of  the  head,  the  body,  in  its  only  visible 
half,  the  fore-part,  is  absolutely  stationary, 
so  intense  is  the  creature's  absorption  in  her 
380 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

laying.  It  is  not  unusual  for  a  male,  by  com- 
parison a  dwarf,  to  come  near  and  for  a 
long  time  to  gaze  curiously  at  the  travailing 
mother.  Sometimes  also  a  few  females 
stand  around,  with  their  big  faces  turned  to- 
wards their  friend  in  labour.  They  seem  to 
take  an  interest  in  what  is  happening,  per- 
haps saying  to  themselves  that  it  will  be  their 
turn  soon. 

After  some  forty  minutes  of  immobility, 
the  mother  suddenly  releases  herself  and 
bounds  far  away.  She  gives  not  a  look  at 
the  eggs  nor  a  touch  of  the  broom  to  conceal 
the  aperture  of  the  well.  The  hole  closes  of 
its  own  accord,  as  best  it  can,  by  the  natural 
falling-in  of  the  sand.  It  is  an  extremely 
summary  performance,  marked  by  an  utter 
absence  of  maternal  solicitude.  The  Locust 
mother  is  not  a  model  of  affection. 

Others  do  not  forsake  their  eggs  so  reck- 
lessly. I  can  name  the  ordinary  Locust  with 
the  blue  wings  striped  with  black  (CEdipoda 
ccerulescens,  LIN.);  also  Pachytylus  nigro- 
fasciatus,  DE  GEER,  whose  cognomen  lacks 
point,  for  it  ought  to  suggest  either  the 
malachite-green  patches  of  the  costume  or 
the  white  cross  of  the  corselet. 

Both,  when  laying  their  eggs,  adopt  the 
381 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

same  attitude  as  the  Italian  Locust.  The 
abdomen  is  driven  perpendicularly  into  the 
soil;  the  rest  of  the  body  partly  disappears 
under  the  sliding  sand.  We  again  see  a  long 
period  of  immobility,  exceeding  half  an  hour, 
together  with  little  jerks  of  the  head,  a  sign 
of  the  underground  efforts. 

The  two  mothers  at  last  release  them- 
selves. With  their  hind-legs,  lifted  on  high, 
they  sweep  a  little  sand  over  the  orifice  of 
the  pit  and  press  it  down  by  stamping  rap- 
idly. It  is  a  pretty  sight  to  watch  the  pre- 
cipitous action  of  their  slender  legs,  blue  or 
pink,  giving  alternate  kicks  to  the  opening 
which  is  waiting  to  be  plugged.  In  this 
manner,  with  a  lively  trampling,  the  entrance 
to  the  house  is  closed  and  hidden  away.  The 
hole  in  which  the  eggs  were  laid  disappears 
from  sight,  so  well  obliterated  that  no  evil- 
intentioned  creature  could  hope  to  discover 
it  by  means  of  vision  alone. 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  driving-power  of  the 
two  rammers  is  the  hinder  thighs,  which,  in 
rising  and  falling,  scrape  lightly  against  the 
edge  of  the  wing-cases.  This  bow-play  pro- 
duces a  faint  stridulation,  similar  to  that  with 
which  the  insect  placidly  lulls  itself  to  sleep 
in  the  sun. 

382 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

The  Hen  salutes  the  egg  which  she  has 
just  laid  with  a  song  of  gladness;  she  an- 
nounces her  maternal  joys,  to  the  whole 
neighbourhood.  Even  so  does  the  Locust 
do  in  many  cases.  With  her  thin  scraper, 
she  celebrates  the  advent  of  her  family.  She 
says: 

"  Non  omnis  moriar;  I  have  buried  under- 
ground the  treasure  of  the  future;  I  have 
entrusted  to  the  incubation  of  the  great 
hatcher  a  keg  of  germs  which  will  take  my 
place." 

Everything  on  the  site  of  the  nest  is  put 
right  in  one  brief  spell  of  work.  The  mother 
then  leaves  the  spot,  refreshes  herself  after 
her  exertions  with  a  few  mouthfuls  of  green 
stuff  and  prepares  to  begin  again. 

The  largest  of  the  Acridians  in  our  part 
of  the  country,  the  Grey  Locust  (Pachytylus 
dnerescens,  FABR.),  rivals  the  African  Lo- 
custs in  size,  without  possessing  their  calami- 
tous habits.  He  is  peace-loving  and  tem- 
perate and  above  reproach  where  the  fruits 
of  the  earth  are  concerned.  From  him  we 
obtain  a  little  information  which  is  easily 
verified  by  observing  the  insect  in  captivity. 

The  eggs  are  laid  about  the  end  of  April, 
a  few  days  after  the  pairing,  which  lasts 
383 


The  Life  of  the  GrassHopper 

some  little  while.  The  female  is  arme'd  at 
the  tip  of  the  abdomen — as,  in  varying  de- 
grees, are  the  other  Locust  mothers — with 
four  short  excavators,  arranged  in  pairs  and 
shaped  like  a  hooked  finger-nail.  In  the 
upper  pair,  which  are  larger,  these  hooks  are 
turned  upwards;  in  the  lower  and  smaller 
pair,  they  are  turned  downwards.  They 
form  a  sort  of  claw  and  are  hard  and  black 
at  the  point;  also  they  are  scooped  out 
slightly,  like  a  spoon,  on  their  concave  sur- 
face. These  are  the  pick-axes,  the  trepans, 
the  boring-tools. 

The  mother  bends  her  long  abdomen  per- 
pendicularly to  the  line  of  the  body.  With 
her  four  trepans  she  bites  into  the  soil,  lift- 
ing the  dry  earth  a  little;  then,  with  a  very 
slow  movement,  she  pushes  down  her  ab- 
domen, making  no  apparent  effort,  display- 
ing no  excitement  that  would  reveal  the  dif- 
ficulty of  the  task. 

The  insect  is  motionless  and  contemplative. 
The  boring-implement  could  not  work  more 
quietly  if  it  were  sinking  into  soft  mould.  It 
might  all  be  happening  in  butter;  and  yet 
what  the  bore  traverses  is  caked,  unyielding 
earth. 

It  would  be  interesting,  if  it  were  only  pos- 
384 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

sible,  to  see  the  perforating-tool,  the  four 
gimlets,  at  work.  Unfortunately,  things 
happen  in  the  mysteries  of  the  earth.  No 
rubbish  rises  to  the  surface;  nothing  de- 
notes the  underground  labour.  Little  by 
little  the  abdomen  sinks  softly  in,  as  our 
finger  would  sink  into  a  lump  of  soft  clay. 
The  four  trepans  must  open  the  passage, 
crumbling  the  earth  into  dust  which  is  thrust 
back  sideways  by  the  abdomen  and  packed 
as  with  a  gardener's  dibble. 

The  best  site  for  laying  the  eggs  is  not 
always  found  at  the  first  endeavour.  I  have 
seen  the  mother  drive  her  abdomen  right  in 
and  make  five  wells  one  after  the  other  be- 
fore finding  a  suitable  place.  The  pits 
recognized  as  defective  are  abandoned  as 
soon  as  bored.  They  are  vertical,  cylindrical 
holes,  of  the  diameter  of  a  thick  lead-pencil 
and  astonishingly  neat.  No  wimble  would 
produce  cleaner  work.  Their  length  is  that 
of  the  insect's  abdomen,  distended  as  far 
as  the  extension  of  the  segments  allows. 

At  the  sixth  attempt,  the  spot  is  recognized 
as  propitious.  The  laying  thereupon  takes 
place,  but  nothing  outside  betrays  the  fact, 
so  motionless  does  the  mother  seem,  with 
her  abdomen  immersed  up  to  the  hilt,  which 
385 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

causes  the  long  wings  lying  on  the  ground  to 
rumple  and  open  out.  The  operation  lasts 
for  a  good  hour. 

At  last  the  abdomen  rises,  little  by  little. 
It  is  now  near  the  surface,  in  a  favourable 
position  for  observation.  The  valves  are 
in  continual  movement,  whipping  a  mucus 
which  sets  in  milk-white  foam.  It  is  very 
similar  to  the  work  done  by  the  Mantis  when 
enveloping  her  eggs  in  froth. 

The  foamy  matter  forms  a  nipple  at  the 
entrance  to  the  well,  a  knob  which  stands 
well  up  and  attracts  the  eye  by  the  white- 
ness of  its  colour  against  the  grey  back- 
ground of  the  soil.  It  is  soft  and  sticky,  but 
hardens  pretty  soon.  When  this  closing 
button  is  finished,  the  mother  moves  away 
and  troubles  no  more  about  her  eggs,  of 
which  she  lays  a  fresh  batch  elsewhere  after 
a  few  days  have  intervened. 

At  other  times,  the  terminal  foamy  paste 
does  not  reach  the  surface;  it  stops  some 
way  down  and,  before  long,  is  covered  with 
the  sand  that  slips  from  the  margin.  There 
is  then  nothing  outside  to  mark  the  place 
where  the  eggs  were  laid. 

Even  when  they  concealed  the  mouth  of 
the  well  under  a  layer  of  swept  sand,  my 
386 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

various  captives,  large  and  small,  were  too 
assiduously  watched  by  me  to  foil  my  curi- 
osity. I  know  in  every  case  the  exact  spot 
where  the  barrel  of  eggs  lies.  The  time  has 
come  to  inspect  it. 

The  thing  is  easily  discovered,  an  inch  or 
an  inch  and  a  half  down,  with  the  point  of 
a  knife.  Its  shape  varies  a  good  deal  in  the 
different  species,  but  the  fundamental  struc- 
ture remains  the  same.  It  is  always  a 
sheath  made  of  solidified  foam,  a  similar 
foam  to  that  of  the  nests  of  the  Praying 
Mantis.  Grains  of  sand  stuck  together,  give 
it  a  rough  outer  covering. 

The  mother  has  not  actually  made  this 
coarse  cover,  which  constitutes  a  defensive 
wall.  The  mineral  wrapper  results  from  the 
simple  infiltration  of  the  product,  at  first 
semifluid  and  viscous,  that  accompanies  the 
emission  of  the  eggs.  The  wall  of  the 
pocket  absorbs  it  and,  swiftly  hardening,  be- 
comes a  cemented  scabbard,  without  the 
agency  of  any  special  labour  on  the  insect's 
part. 

Inside,  there  is  no  foreign  matter,  nothing 

but  foam  and  eggs.     The  latter  occupy  only 

the  lower  portion,  where  they  are  immersed 

in  a  frothy  matrix  and  packed  one  on  top 

387 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

of  the  other,  slantwise.  The  upper  portion, 
which  is  larger  in  some  cases  than  in  others, 
consists  solely  of  soft,  yielding  foam.  Be- 
cause of  the  part  which  it  plays  when  the 
young  larvae  come  into  existence,  I  shall  call 
it  the  ascending-shaft.  A  final  point  worthy 
of  observation  is  that  all  the  sheaths  are 
planted  more  or  less  vertically  in  the  soil 
and  end  at  the  top  almost  level  with  the 
ground. 

We  will  now  describe  specifically  the  lay- 
ings which  we  find  in  the  cages.  That  of 
Pachytylus  cinerescens  is  a  cylinder  six  centi- 
metres long  and  eight  millimetres  wide.1 
The  upper  end,  when  it  emerges  above  the 
ground,  swells  into  a  nipple.  All  the  rest 
is  of  uniform  thickness.  The  yellow-grey 
eggs  are  fusiform.  Immersed  in  the  froth 
and  arranged  slantwise,  they  occupy  only 
about  a  sixth  part  of  the  total  length.  The 
rest  of  the  structure  is  a  fine,  white,  very 
powdery  foam,  soiled  on  the  outside  by 
grains  of  earth.  The  eggs  are  not  many  in 
number,  about  thirty;  but  the  mother  lays 
several  batches. 

That  of  P.  nigrofasciatus  is  shaped  like  a 
slightly  curved  cylinder,  rounded  off  at  the 

1  2.34  by  .312  inches. — Translator's  Note, 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

lower  end  and  cut  square  at  the  upper  end. 
Its  dimensions  are  an  inch  to  an  inch  and  a 
half  in  length  by  a  fifth  of  an  inch  in  width. 
The  eggs,  about  twenty  in  number,  are 
orange-red,  adorned  with  a  pretty  pattern 
of  tiny  spots.  The  frothy  matrix  in  which 
they  are  contained  is  small  in  quantity;  but 
above  them  there  is  a  long  column  of  very 
fine,  transparent  and  porous  foam. 

The  Blue-winged  Locust  (CEdipoda  coeru- 
lescens)  arranges  her  eggs  in  a  sort  of  fat 
inverted  comma.  The  lower  portion  con- 
tains the  eggs  in  its  gourd-shaped  pocket. 
They  also  are  few  in  number,  some  thirty 
at  most,  of  a  fairly  bright  orange-red,  but 
unspotted.  This  receptable  is  crowned  with 
a  curved,  conical  cap  of  foam. 

The  lover  of  the  mountain-tops,  the  Pedes- 
trian Locust,  adopts  the  same  method  as  the 
Blue-winged  Locust,  the  denizen  of  the 
plains.  Her  sheath  too  is  shaped  like  a 
comma  with  the  point  turned  upwards.  The 
eggs,  numbering  about  two  dozen,  are  dark- 
russet  and  are  strikingly  ornamented  with  a 
delicate  lacework  of  inwrought  spots.  You 
are  quite  surprised  when  you  pass  the  mag- 
nifying-glass  over  this  unexpected  elegance. 
Beauty  leaves  its  impress  everywhere,  even 
389 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

in  the  humble  covering  of  an  unsightly 
Acridian  incapable  of  flight. 

The  Italian  Locust  begins  by  enclosing  her 
eggs  in  a  keg  and  then,  when  on  the  point 
of  sealing  her  receptacle,  thinks  better  of  it : 
something  essential,  the  ascending-shaft,  is 
lacking.  At  the  upper  end,  at  the  point 
where  it  seems  as  if  the  barrel  ought  to  finish 
and  close,  a  sudden  compression  changes  the 
course  of  the  work,  which  is  prolonged  by 
the  regulation  foamy  appendage.  In  this 
way,  two  storeys  are  obtained,  clearly  de- 
fined on  the  outside  by  a  deep  groove.  The 
lower,  which  is  oval  in  shape,  contains  the 
packet  of  eggs;  the  upper,  tapering  into  the 
tail  of  a  comma,  consists  of  nothing  but 
foam.  The  two  communicate  by  an  opening 
that  remains  more  or  less  free. 

The  Locust's  art  is  not  confined  to  these 
specimens  of  architecture.  She  knows  how 
to  construct  other  strong-boxes  for  her  eggs ; 
she  can  protect  them  with  all  kinds  of  edifices, 
some  simple,  others  more  ingenious,  but  all 
worthy  of  our  attention.  Those  with  which 
we  are  familiar  are  very  few  compared  with 
those  of  which  we  are  ignorant.  No  matter : 
what  the  cages  reveal  to  us  is  sufficient  to 
enlighten  us  as  to  the  general  form.  It  re- 
390 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

mains  for  us  to  learn  how  the  building — an 
egg-warehouse  below,  a  foamy  turret  above 
• — is  constructed. 

Direct  observation  is  impracticable  here. 
If  we  took  it  into  our  heads  to  dig  and  to 
uncover  the  abdomen  at  work,  the  mother, 
worried  by  our  importunity,  would  leap  away 
without  telling  us  anything.  Fortunately, 
one  Locust,  the  strangest  of  my  district,  re- 
veals the  secret  to  us.  I  speak  of  the 
Tryxalis,  the  largest  member  of  the  family, 
after  the  Grey  Locust. 

Though  inferior  to  the  last-named  in  size, 
how  far  she  exceeds  her  in  slenderness  of 
figure  and,  above  all,  in  originality  of  shape ! 
On  our  sun-scorched  swards,  none  has  a 
leaping-apparatus  to  compare  with  hers. 
What  hind-legs,  what  extravagant  thighs, 
what  shanks!  They  are  longer  than  the 
creature's  whole  body. 

The  result  obtained  hardly  corresponds 
with  this  extraordinary  length  of  limb.  The 
insect  shuffles  awkwardly  along  the  edges  of 
the  vines,  on  the  sand  sparsely  covered  with 
grass;  it  seems  embarrassed  by  its  shanks, 
which  are  slow  to  work.  With  this  equip- 
ment, weakened  by  its  excessive  length,  the 
leap  is  awkward,  describing  but  a  short 
391 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

parabola.  The  flight  alone,  once  taken,  is 
of  a  certain  range,  thanks  to  an  excellent  pair 
of  wings. 

And  then  what  a  strange  head!  It  is  an 
elongated  cone,  a  sugar-loaf,  whose  point, 
turned  up  in  the  air,  has  earned  for  the 
insect  the  quaint  epithet  of  nasuta,  long- 
nosed.  At  the  top  of  this  cranial  promon- 
tory are  two  large,  gleaming,  oval  eyes  and 
two  antennae,  flat  and  pointed,  like  dagger- 
blades.  These  rapiers  are  organs  of  in- 
formation. The  Tryxalis  lowers  them,  with 
a  sudden  swoop,  to  explore  with  their  points 
the  object  in  which  she  is  interested,  the  bit 
which  she  intends  to  nibble. 

To  this  abnormal  shape  we  must  add  an- 
other characteristic  that  makes  this  long- 
shanks  an  exception  among  Acridians.  The 
ordinary  Locusts,  a  peaceful  tribe,  live 
among  themselves  without  strife,  even  when 
driven  by  hunger.  The  Tryxalis,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  somewhat  addicted  to  the  can- 
nibalism of  the  Grasshoppers.  In  my  cages, 
in  the  midst  of  plenty,  she  varies  her  diet 
and  passes  easily  from  salad  to  game.  When 
tired  of  green  stuff,  she  does  not  scruple  to 
exercise  her  jaws  on  her  weaker  companions. 

This  is  the  creature  capable  of  giving  us 
392 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

information  about  methods  of  laying.  In 
my  cages,  as  the  result  of  an  aberration  due 
no  doubt  to  the  boredom  of  captivity,  it  has 
never  laid  its  eggs  in  the  ground.  I  have 
always  seen  it  operating  in  the  open  air  and 
even  perched  on  high.1  In  the  early  days  of 
October,  the  insect  clings  to  the  trelliswork 
of  the  cage  and  very  slowly  discharges  its 
batch  of  eggs,  which  we  see  gushing  forth 
in  a  fine,  foamy  stream,  soon  stiffening  into 
a  thick  cylindrical  cord,  knotty  and  queerly 
curved.  It  takes  nearly  an  hour  to  complete 
the  emission.  Then  the  thing  falls  to  the 
ground,  no  matter  where,  unheeded  by  the 
mother,  who  never  troubles  about  it  again. 

The  shapeless  object,  which  varies  greatly 
in  different  layings,  is  at  first  straw-coloured, 
then  darkens  and  turns  rusty-brown  on  the 
morrow.  The  fore-part,  which  is  the  first 
ejected,  usually  consists  only  of  foam;  the 
hinder  part  alone  is  fertile  and  contains  the 
eggs,  buried  in  a  frothy  matrix.  They  are 
amber-yellow,  about  a  score  in  number  and 
shaped  like  blunt  spindles,  eight  to  nine 
millimetres  in  length.2 


1  The    big    Grey   Locust    is    sometimes    subject   to   tht 
same  aberration. — Author's  Note. 
'.314  to  .351  inch. — Translator's  Note. 
393 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

The  sterile  end,  which  is  at  least  as  big 
as  the  other,  tells  us  that  the  apparatus  which 
produces  the  foam  is  in  operation  before  the 
oviduct  and  afterwards  goes  on  while  the 
latter  is  working. 

By  what  mechanism  does  the  Tryxalis 
froth  up  her  viscous  product  into  a  porous 
column  first  and  a  mattress  for  the  eggs  after- 
wards ?  She  must  certainly  know  the  method 
of  the  Praying  Mantis,  who,  with  the  aid  of 
spoon-shaped  valves,  whips  and  beats  her 
glair  and  converts  it  into  an  omelette  souf- 
fiee;  but  in  the  Acridian's  case  the  frothing 
is  done  within  and  there  is  nothing  outside 
to  betray  its  existence.  The  glue  is  foamy 
from  the  moment  of  its  appearing  in  the 
open  air. 

In  the  Mantis'  building,  that  complex  work 
of  art,  it  is  not  a  case  of  any  special  talent, 
which  the  mother  can  exercise  at  will.  The 
wonderful  egg-casket  comes  from  the  ordi- 
nary action  of  the  mechanism,  is  merely  the 
outcome  of  the  organization.  A  fortiori,  the 
Tryxalis,  in  discharging  her  clumsy  sausage, 
is  purely  a  machine.  The  thing  happens  of 
itself. 

The  same  applies  to  the  Locusts.  They 
have  no  industry  of  their  own  specially  de- 

394 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

vised  for  laying  eggs  in  strata  in  a  keg  of 
froth  and  extending  this  keg  into  an  ascend- 
ing-shaft. The  mother,  with  her  abdomen 
plunged  into  the  sand,  expels  at  the  same 
time  eggs  and  foamy  glair.  The  whole  be- 
comes coordinated  of  its  own  accord  simply 
by  the  mechanism  of  the  organs :  on  the  out- 
side, the  frothy  material,  which  coagulates 
and  becomes  encrusted  with  a  bulwark  of 
earth;  in  the  centre  and  at  the  bottom,  the 
eggs  arranged  in  regular  strata ;  at  the  upper 
end,  a  column  of  yielding  foam. 

The  Tryxalis  and  the  Grey  Locust  are 
early  hatchers.  The  latter's  family  are  al- 
ready hopping  on  the  yellow  patches  of  grass 
in  August;  before  October  is  out,  we  are  fre- 
quently coming  across  young  larvae  with 
pointed  skulls.  But  in  most  of  the  other 
Acridians  the  ovigerous  sheaths  last  through 
the  winter  and  do  not  open  until  the  fine 
weather  returns.  They  are  buried  at  no 
great  depth  in  a  soil  which  is  at  first  loose 
and  dusty  and  which  would  not  be  likely  to 
interfere  with  the  emergence  of  the  young 
larvae  if  it  remained  as  it  is;  but  the  winter 
rains  cake  it  together  and  turn  it  into  a  hard 
ceiling.  Suppose  that  the  hatching  takes 
place  only  a  couple  of  inches  down:  how  is 
395 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

this  crust  to  be  broken,  how  is  the  larva  to 
come  up  from  below?  The  mother's  uncon- 
scious art  has  provided  for  that. 

The  Locust  at  his  birth  finds  above  him, 
not  rough  sand  and  hardened  earth,  but  a 
perpendicular  tunnel  whose  solid  walls  keep 
all  difficulties  at  a  distance,  a  road  protected 
by  a  little  easily-penetrated  foam,  an  ascend- 
ing-shaft, in  short,  which  brings  the  new-born 
larva  quite  close  to  the  surface.  Here  a 
finger's-breadth  of  serious  obstacle  remains 
to  be  overcome. 

The  greater  part  of  the  emergence  there- 
fore is  accomplished  without  effort,  thanks 
to  the  terminal  appendage  of  the  egg-barrel. 
If,  in  my  desire  to  follow  the  underground 
work  of  the  exodus,  I  experiment  in  glass 
tubes,  almost  all  the  new-born  larvae  die,  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue,  under  an  inch  of  earth, 
when  I  do  away  with  the  liberating  append- 
age to  the  shells.  They  duly  come  to  light 
if  I  leave  the  nest  in  its  integral  condition, 
with  the  ascending-shaft  pointing  upwards. 
Though  a  mechanical  product  of  the  organ- 
ism, created  without  any  effort  of  the  crea- 
ture's intelligence,  the  Locust's  edifice,  we 
must  confess,  is  singularly  well  thought 
out. 

396 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

Having  come  quite  close  to  the  surface 
with  the  aid  of  his  ascending-shaft,  what  does 
the  young  Locust  do  to  complete  his  deliver- 
ance? He  has  still  to  pass  through  a  layer 
of  earth  about  a  finger' s-breadth  in  thick- 
ness ;  and  that  is  very  hard  work  for  budding 
flesh. 

If  we  keep  the  egg-cases  in  glass  tubes 
during  the  favourable  period,  the  end  of 
spring,  we  shall  receive  a  reply  to  our  quest- 
ion, provided  that  we  have  the  requisite  pa- 
tience. The  Blue-winged  Locusts  lend  them- 
selves best  to  my  investigations.  I  find  some 
of  them  busied  with  the  work  of  liberation 
at  the  end  of  June. 

The  little  Locust,  on  leaving  his  shell, 
is  a  whitish  colour,  clouded  with  light  red. 
His  progress  is  made  by  wormlike  move- 
ments; and,  so  that  it  may  be  impeded  as 
little  as  possible,  he  is  hatched  in  the  condi- 
tion of  a  mummy,  that  is  to  say,  clad,  like 
the  young  Grasshoppers,  in  a  temporary 
jacket,  which  keeps  his  antennae,  palpi  and 
legs  closely  fixed  to  his  breast  and  belly.  The 
head  itself  is  very  much  bent.  The  large 
hind-thighs  are  arranged  side  by  side  with 
the  folded  shanks,  shapeless  as  yet,  short 
and  as  it  were  crooked.  On  the  way,  the 

397 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

legs  are  slightly  released;  the  hind-legs  are 
straightened  out  and  afford  a  fulcrum  for  the 
sapping-work. 

The  boring-tool,  a  repetition  of  the 
Grasshoppers',  is  at  the  neck.  There  is  here 
a  tumour  that  swells,  subsides,  throbs  and 
strikes  the  obstacle  with  pistonlike  regularity. 
A  tiny  and  most  tender  cervical  bladder  en- 
gages in  a  struggle  with  quartz.  At  the 
sight  of  this  capsule  of  glair  striving  to  over- 
come the  hardness  of  the  mineral,  I  am 
seized  with  pity.  I  come  to  the  unhappy 
creature's  assistance  by  slightly  damping  the 
layer  to  be  passed  through. 

Despite  my  intervention,  the  task  is  so 
arduous  that,  in  an  hour,  I  see  the  indefati- 
gable one  make  a  progress  of  hardly  a 
twenty-fifth  of  an  inch.  How  you  must  la- 
bour, you  poor  little  thing,  how  you  must 
persevere  with  your  throbbing  head  and 
writhing  loins,  before  you  can  clear  a  pass- 
age for  yourself  through  the  thin  layer 
which  my  kindly  drop  of  water  has  softened 
for  you! 

The  ineffectual  efforts  of  the  tiny  mite 
tell  us  plainly  that  the  emergence  into  the 
light  of  day  is  an  enormous  undertaking,  in 
which,  but  for  the  aid  of  the  exit-tunnel,  the 


The  Locusts:  their  Eggs 

mother's  work,  the  greater  number  would 
succumb. 

It  is  true  that  the  Grasshoppers,  similarly 
equipped,  find  it  even  more  difficult  to  make 
their  way  out  of  the  earth.  Their  eggs  are 
laid  naked  in  the  ground;  no  outward  pass- 
age is  prepared  for  them  beforehand.  We 
may  assume,  therefore,  that  the  mortality 
must  be  very  high  among  these  improvident 
ones ;  legions  are  bound  to  perish  at  the  time 
of  the  exodus. 

This  is  confirmed  by  the  comparative 
scarcity  of  Grasshoppers  and  the  extreme 
abundance  of  Locusts.  And  yet  the  number 
of  eggs  laid  is  about  the  same  in  both  cases. 
The  Locust  does  not,  in  fact,  limit  herself 
to  a  single  casket  containing  a  score  of  eggs : 
she  puts  into  the  ground  two,  three  and 
more,  which  gives  a  total  population  ap- 
proaching that  of  the  Decticus  and  other 
Grasshoppers.  If,  to  the  greater  delight  of 
the  consumers  of  small  game,  she  thrives  so 
well,  whereas  the  Grasshopper,  who  is  quite 
as  fertile  but  less  ingenious,  dwindles,  does 
she  not  owe  it  to  that  superb  invention,  her 
exit-turret? 

One  last  word  upon  the  tiny  insect  which, 
for  days  on  end,  fights  away  with  its  cervical 

399 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

rammer.  It  is  outside  at  last  and  rests  for 
a  moment,  to  recover  from  all  that  fatigue. 
Then,  suddenly,  under  the  thrust  of  the 
throbbing  blister,  the  temporary  jacket  splits. 
The  rags  are  pushed  back  by  the  hind-legs, 
which  are  the  last  to  strip.  The  thing  is 
done :  the  creature  is  free,  pale  in  colouring 
as  yet,  but  possessing  the  final  larval  form. 
Then  and  there,  the  hind-legs,  hitherto 
stretched  in  a  straight  line,  adopt  the  regula- 
tion position;  the  legs  fold  under  the  great 
thighs;  and  the  spring  is  ready  to  work.  It 
works.  Little  Locust  makes  his  entrance  into 
the  world  and  hops  for  the  first  time.  I  offer 
him  a  bit  of  lettuce  the  size  of  my  finger- 
nail. He  refuses.  Before  taking  nourish- 
ment, he  must  first  mature  and  develop  for 
a  while  in  the  sun. 


400 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   LOCUSTS:   THE   LAST  MOULT 

1HAVE  just  beheld  a  stirring  sight:  the 
last  moult  of  a  Locust,  the  extraction  of 
the  adult  from  his  larval  wrapper.  It  is 
magnificent.  The  object  of  my  enthusiasm  is 
the  Grey  Locust,  the  giant  among  our 
Acridians,  who  is  common  on  the  vines  at 
vintage-time,  in  September.  On  account  of 
his  size — he  is  as  long  as  my  finger — he  is 
a  better  subject  for  observation  than  any 
other  of  his  tribe. 

The  fat,  ungraceful  larva,  a  rough  draft 
of  the  perfect  insect,  is  usually  pale-green; 
but  some  also  are  bluish-green,  dirty-yellow, 
red-brown  or  even  ashen-grey,  like  the  grey 
of  the  adult.  The  corselet  is  strongly  keeled 
and  notched,  with  a  sprinkling  of  fine  white 
worm-holes.  The  hind-legs,  powerful  as 
those  of  mature  age,  have  a  great  haunch 
striped  with  red  and  a  long  shank  shaped 
like  a  two-edged  saw. 
401 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

The  wing-cases,  which  in  a  few  days  will 
project  well  beyond  the  tip  of  the  abdomen, 
are  in  their  present  state  two  skimpy,  tri- 
angular pinions,  touching  back  to  back  along 
their  upper  edges  and  continuing  the  keel  of 
the  corselet.  Their  free  ends  stand  up  like 
a  pointed  gable.  These  two  coat-tails,  of 
which  the  material  seems  to  have  been 
clipped  short  with  ridiculous  meanness,  just 
cover  the  creature's  nakedness  at  the  small 
of  the  back.  They  shelter  two  lean  strips, 
the  germs  of  the  wings,  which  are  even  more 
exiguous.  In  brief,  the  sumptuous,  slender 
sails  of  the  near  future  are  at  present  sheer 
rags,  of  such  meagre  dimensions  as  to  be 
grotesque.  What  will  come  out  of  these 
miserable  envelopes?  A  marvel  of  stately 
elegance. 

Let  us  observe  the  proceedings  in  detail. 
Feeling  itself  ripe  for  transformation,  the 
creature  clutches  the  trelliswork  of  the  cage 
with  its  hinder  and  intermediary  legs.  The 
fore-legs  are  folded  and  crossed  over  the 
breast  and  are  not  employed  in  supporting 
the  insect,  which  hangs  in  a  reversed  posi- 
tion, back  downwards.  The  triangular  pin- 
ions, the  sheaths  of  the  wing-cases,  open  their 
peaked  roof  and  separate  sideways;  the  two 
402 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

narrow  strips,  the  germs  of  the  wings,  stand 
in  the  centre  of  the  uncovered  space  and 
diverge  slightly.  The  position  for  the  moult 
has  now  been  taken  with  the  necessary 
stability. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  burst  the 
old  tunic.  Behind  the  corselet,  under  the 
pointed  roof  of  the  prothorax,  pulsations 
are  produced  by  alternate  inflation  and  de- 
flation. A  similar  operation  is  performed  in 
front  of  the  neck  and  probably  also  under 
the  entire  covering  of  the  shell  that  is  to  be 
split.  The  delicacy  of  the  membranes  at  the 
joints  enables  us  to  perceive  what  is  going 
on  at  these  bare  points,  but  the  harness  of 
the  corselet  hides  it  from  us  in  the  central 
portion. 

It  is  there  that  the  insect's  reserves  of 
blood  flow  in  waves.  The  rising  tide  ex- 
presses itself  in  blows  of  an  hydraulic  bat- 
tering-ram. Distended  by  this  rush  of  hu- 
mours, by  this  injection  wherein  the  organism 
concentrates  its  energies,  the  skin  at  last 
splits  along  a  line  of  least  resistance  pre- 
pared by  life's  subtle  previsions.  The  fissure 
yawns  all  along  the  corselet,  opening  pre- 
cisely over  the  keel,  as  though  the  two  sym- 
metrical halves  had  been  soldered.  Un- 
403 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

breakable  any  elsewhere,  the  wrapper  yields 
at  this  median  point  which  is  kept  weaker 
than  the  rest.  The  split  is  continued  some 
little  way  back  and  runs  between  the  fasten- 
ings of  the  wings;  it  goes  up  the  head  as  far 
as  the  base  of  the  antennae,  where  it  sends 
a  short  ramification  to  the  right  and  left. 

Through  this  break  the  back  is  seen,  quite 
soft,  pale,  hardly  tinged  with  grey.  Slowly 
it  swells  into  a  larger  and  larger  hunch.  At 
last  it  is  wholly  released.  The  head  follows, 
extracted  from  its  mask,  which  remains  in 
its  place,  intact  in  the  smallest  particular, 
but  looking  strange  with  its  great  glassy  eyes 
that  do  not  see.  The  sheaths  of  the  an- 
tennas, with  not  a  wrinkle,  with  nothing  out 
of  order  and  with  their  normal  position  un- 
changed, hang  over  this  dead  face,  which  is 
now  translucent. 

Therefore,  in  emerging  from  their  narrow 
sheaths,  which  enclosed  them  with  such  abso- 
lute precision,  the  antennary  threads  encoun- 
tered no  resistance  capable  of  turning  their 
scabbards  inside  out,  or  disturbing  their 
shape,  or  even  wrinkling  them.  Without  in- 
juring the  twisted  containers,  the  contents, 
equal  in  size  and  themselves  twisted,  have 
managed  to  slip  out  as  easily  as  a  smooth, 
404 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

straight  object  would  do,  if  sliding  in  a 
loose  sheath.  The  extraction-mechanism  will 
be  still  more  remarkable  in  the  case  of  the 
hind-legs. 

Meanwhile  it  is  the  turn  of  the  fore-legs 
and  then  of  the  intermediary  legs  to  shed 
armlets  and  gauntlets,  always  without  the 
least  rent,  however  small,  without  a  crease 
of  rumpled  material,  without  a  trace  of  any 
change  in  the  natural  position.  The  insect 
is  now  fixed  to  the  top  of  the  cage  only  by 
the  claws  of  the  long  hind-legs.  It  hangs 
perpendicularly,  head  downwards,  swinging 
like  a  pendulum,  if  I  touch  the  wire-gauze. 
Four  tiny  hooks  are  what  it  hangs  by.  If 
they  gave  way,  if  they  became  unfastened, 
the  insect  would  be  lost,  for  it  is  incapable  of 
unfurling  its  enormous  wings  anywhere  ex- 
cept in  space.  But  they  will  hold:  life,  be- 
fore withdrawing  from  them,  left  them  stiff 
and  solid,  so  as  to  be  able  firmly  to  support 
the  struggles  that  are  to  follow. 

The  wing-cases  and  wings  now  emerge. 
These  are  four  narrow  strips,  faintly 
grooved  and  looking  like  bits  of  paper  rib- 
bon. At  this  stage,  they  are  scarcely  a 
quarter  of  their  final  length.  So  limp  are 
they  that  they  bend  under  their  own  weight 
405 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

and  sprawl  along  the  insect's  sides  in  the 
opposite  direction  to  the  normal.  Their  free 
end,  which  should  be  turned  backwards,  now 
points  towards  the  head  of  the  Locust,  who 
is  hanging  upside  down.  Imagine  four 
blades  of  thick  grass,  bent  and  battered  by 
a  rainstorm,  and  you  will  have  a  fair  pic- 
ture of  the  pitiable  bunch  formed  by  the 
future  organs  of  flight. 

It  must  be  no  light  task  to  bring  things  to 
the  requisite  stage  of  perfection.  The 
deeper-seated  changes  are  already  well- 
started,  solidifying  liquid  mucilages,  bringing 
order  out  of  chaos;  but  so  far  nothing  out- 
side betrays  what  is  happening  in  that  mys- 
terious laboratory  where  everything  seems 
lifeless. 

Meanwhile,  the  hind-legs  become  released. 
The  great  thighs  appear  in  view,  tinted  on 
their  inner  surface  with  a  pale  pink,  which 
will  soon  turn  into  a  streak  of  bright  crimson. 
The  emergence  is  easy,  the  bulky  haunch 
clearing  the  way  for  the  tapering  knuckle. 

It  is  different  with  the  shank.  This,  in 
the  adult  insect,  bristles  throughout  its 
length  with  a  double  row  of  hard,  pointed 
spikes.  Moreover,  the  lower  extremity  ends 
in  four  large  spurs.  It  is  a  genuine  saw,  but 
406 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

with  two  parallel  sets  of  teeth  and  so  power- 
ful that,  if  we  dismiss  the  size  from  our 
minds,  it  might  be  compared  with  the  rough 
saw  wielded  by  a  quarryman. 

The  larva's  shin  is  similarly  constructed, 
so  that  the  object  to  be  extracted  is  con- 
tained in  a  sheath  as  awkwardly  shaped  as 
itself.  Each  spur  is  enclosed  in  a  similar 
spur,  each  tooth  fits  into  the  hollow  of  a 
similar  tooth;  and  the  moulding  is  so  exact 
that  we  should  obtain  no  more  intimate  con- 
tact if,  instead  of  the  envelope  waiting  to 
be  shed,  we  coated  the  limb  with  a  layer  of 
varnish  distributed  uniformly  with  a  fine 
brush. 

Nevertheless  the  sawlike  tibia  slips  out  of 
its  long,  narrow  case  without  catching  in  it 
at  any  point  whatever.  If  I  had  not  seen 
this  happen  over  and  over  again,  I  could 
never  have  believed  it :  the  discarded  legging 
is  quite  intact  all  the  way  down.  Neither  the 
terminal  spurs  nor  the  two  rows  of  spikes 
have  caught  in  the  delicate  mould.  The  saw 
has  respected  the  dainty  scabbard  which  a 
puff  of  my  breath  is  enough  to  tear;  the 
formidable  rake  has  slipped  through  without 
leaving  the  least  scratch  behind  it. 

I  was  far  from  expecting  such  a  result  as 
407 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

this.  Because  of  the  spiked  armour,  I  im- 
agined that  the  leg  would  strip  in  scales 
which  came  loose  of  themselves  or  yielded 
to  rubbing,  like  dead  cuticle.  How  greatly 
did  the  reality  exceed  my  expectations ! 

From  the  spurs  and  spikes  of  the  infinitely 
thin  matrix  there  emerge  spurs  and  spikes 
that  make  the  leg  capable  of  cutting  soft 
wood.  This  is  done  without  violence  or  the 
least  inconvenience;  and  the  discarded  gar- 
ment remains  where  it  is,  hanging  by  the 
claws  to  the  top  of  the  cage,  uncreased  and 
untorn.  The  magnifying-glass  shows  not  a 
trace  of  rough  usage.  As  the  thing  was 
before  the  excoriation,  so  it  remains  after- 
wards. The  legging  of  dead  skin  continues, 
down  to  the  pettiest  details,  an  exact  replica 
of  the  live  leg. 

If  any  one  suggested  that  we  should  ex- 
tract a  saw  from  some  sort  of  goldbeater's- 
skin  sheath  which  had  been  exactly  moulded 
on  the  steel  and  that  we  should  perform  the 
operation  without  producing  the  least  tear, 
we  should  burst  out  laughing:  the  thing 
is  so  flagrantly  impossible.  Life  makes  light 
of  these  impossibilities;  it  has  methods  of 
realizing  the  absurd,  in  case  of  need.  And 
the  Locust's  leg  tells  us  so. 
408 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

If  the  saw  of  the  shin  were  as  hard  as 
it  is  once  it  leaves  its  sheath,  it  would  abso- 
lutely refuse  to  come  out  without  tearing  to 
pieces  the  tight-fitting  scabbard.  The  dif- 
ficulty therefore  is  evaded,  for  it  is  essential 
that  the  leggings,  which  form  the  only  sus- 
pension-cords, should  remain  intact  in  order 
to  furnish  a  firm  support  until  the  deliver- 
ance is  completed. 

The  leg  in  process  of  liberation  is  not  a 
limb  fit  for  walking;  it  has  not  the  rigidity 
which  it  will  presently  possess.  It  is  soft 
and  highly  flexible.  In  the  portion  which 
the  progress  of  the  moult  exposes  to  view,  I 
see  it  bending  and  curving  as  I  wish,  under 
the  mere  influence  of  its  own  weight,  when 
I  lift  the  cage.  It  is  as  supple  as  elastic 
cord.  And  yet  consolidation  follows  very 
rapidly,  for  the  proper  stiffness  will  be  ac- 
quired in  a  few  minutes. 

Farther  on,  in  the  part  hidden  from  me 
by  the  sheath,  the  leg  is  certainly  softer  and 
in  a  state  of  exquisite  plasticity — I  was  al- 
most saying  fluidity — which  allows  it  to 
overcome  difficult  passages  almost  as  a  liquid 
would  flow. 

The  teeth  of  the  saw  are  there,  but  have 
none  of  their  future  sharpness.  I  am  able 
409 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

to  strip  a  leg  partially  with  the  point  of  a 
knife  and  to  extract  the  spines  from  their 
horny  mould.  They  are  germs  of  spikes, 
flexible  buds  which  bend  under  the  slightest 
pressure  and  resume  their  upright  position 
as  soon  as  the  pressure  is  removed. 

These  spikes  lie  backwards  when  the  leg 
is  about  to  be  drawn  out;  they  stand  up 
again  and  solidify  while  it  emerges.  I  am 
witnessing  not  the  mere  stripping  of  gaiters 
from  limbs  completely  enclosed,  but  rather 
a  sort  of  birth  and  growth  which  disconcert 
us  by  their  rapidity. 

Much  in  the  same  way,  but  with  far  less 
delicate  precision,  do  the  claws  of  the  Cray- 
fish, at  moulting-time,  withdraw  the  soft 
flesh  of  their  two  fingers  from  the  old  stony 
sheath. 

The  shanks  are  free  at  last.  They  are 
folded  limply  in  the  groove  of  the  thigh, 
there  to  mature  without  moving.  The  ab- 
domen is  next  stripped.  Its  fine  tunic  wrin- 
kles, rumples  and  pushes  back  towards  the 
extremity,  which  alone  fcr  some  time  longer 
remains  clad  in  the  moulting  skin.  Except 
at  this  point,  the  whole  of  the  Locust  is  now 
bare. 

It  is  hanging  perpendicularly,  head  down, 
410 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

supported  by  the  claws  of  the  now  empty 
leggings.  Throughout  this  long  and  finikin 
work,  the  four  talons  have  never  yielded, 
thanks  to  the  delicacy  and  care  with  which 
the  extraction  has  been  conducted. 

The  insect,  fixed  by  the  stern  to  its  cast 
skin,  does  not  move.  Its  abdomen  is  im- 
mensely swollen,  apparently  distended  by 
the  reserve  of  organizable  humours  which 
the  expansion  of  the  wings  and  wing-cases 
will  soon  set  in  motion.  The  Locust  is  rest- 
ing; he  is  recovering  from  his  exertions. 
Twenty  minutes  are  spent  in  waiting. 

Then,  by  an  effort  of  its  back,  the  hanging 
insect  raises  itself  and  with  its  front  tarsi 
grabs  hold  of  the  cast  skin  fastened  above 
it.  Never  did  acrobat,  swinging  by  his  feet 
from  the  bar  of  a  trapeze,  display  greater 
strength  of  loin  in  lifting  himself.  When 
this  feat  is  accomplished,  what  remains  to 
be  done  is  nothing.  With  the  support  which 
he  has  now  gripped,  the  Locust  climbs  a 
little  higher  and  reaches  the  wire  gauze  of 
the  cage.  This  takes  the  place  of  the  brush- 
wood which  the  free  insect  would  utilize  for 
the  transformation.  He  fixes  himself  to  it 
with  his  four  front  feet.  Then  the  tip  of 
the  abdomen  succeeds  in  releasing  itself, 
411 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

whereupon,  loosened  with  one  last  shake, 
the  empty  husk  drops  to  the  ground. 

The  fact  of  its  falling  interests  me,  for 
I  remember  the  stubborn  persistency  with 
which  the  Cicada's  cast  skin  defies  the  winter 
winds  without  being  detached  from  its  sup- 
porting twig.  The  Locust's  transfiguration 
is  conducted  in  much  the  same  way  as  the 
Cicada's.  Then  how  is  it  that  the  Acridian 
gives  himself  such  very  shaky  hangers? 
The  hooks  hold  so  long  as  the  work  of 
tearing  continues,  though  one  would  think 
that  this  ought  to  bring  down  everything; 
they  give  way  under  a  trifling  shock  so  soon 
as  that  work  is  done.  We  have,  therefore, 
a  very  unstable  condition  of  equilibrium  here, 
showing  once  more  with  what  delicate  pre- 
cision the  insect  leaves  its  sheath. 

I  said  "  tearing,"  for  want  of  a  better 
word.  But  it  is  not  quite  that.  The  term 
implies  violence;  and  violence  there  cannot 
be  any,  because  of  the  unsteady  balance. 
Should  the  Locust,  upset  by  his  exertions, 
come  to  the  ground,  it  would  be  all  up  with 
him.  He  would  shrivel  where  he  lies;  or, 
at  any  rate,  his  organs  of  flight,  being  un- 
able to  expand,  would  remain  pitiful  shreds. 
The  Locust  does  not  tear  himself  loose;  he 
412 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

flows  softly  from  his  scabbard.  It  is  as 
though  he  were  forced  out  by  a  gentle 
spring. 

To  return  to  the  wings  and  wing-cases, 
which  have  made  no  apparent  progress  since 
leaving  the  sheaths.  They  are  still  stumps, 
with  fine  longitudinal  seams,  not  much  more 
than  bits  of  rope.  Their  expansion,  which 
will  take  more  than  three  hours,  is  reserved 
for  the  end,  when  the  insect  is  completely 
stripped  and  in  its  normal  position. 

We  have  seen  the  Locust  turn  head  up- 
permost. This  upright  position  is  enough 
to  restore  the  natural  arrangement  of  the 
wing-cases  and  wings.  Being  extremely  flex- 
ible and  bent  by  their  own  weight,  they  were 
hanging  down  with  their  loose  end  pointing 
towards  the  head  of  the  inverted  insect. 
Now,  still  by  virtue  of  their  own  weight,  they 
are  straightened  and  put  the  right  way  up. 
They  are  no  longer  curved  like  the  petals 
of  a  flower,  they  are  no  longer  in  an  inverted 
position;  but  they  still  look  miserably  insig- 
nificant. 

In  its  perfect  state,  the  wing  is  fan-shaped. 
A  radiating  cluster  of  strong  nervures  runs 
through  it  lengthwise  and  forms  the  frame- 
work of  the  fan,  which  is  readily  furled  or 
413 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

unfurled.  The  intervening  spaces  are 
crossed  by  innumerable  tiny  bars  which  make 
of  the  whole  a  network  of  rectangular 
meshes.  The  wing-case,  which  is  coarser  and 
much  less  expanded,  repeats  this  structure  in 
squares. 

In  neither  case  does  any  of  the  mesh  show 
during  the  rope's-end  stage.  All  that  we  see 
is  a  few  wrinkles,  a  few  winding  furrows, 
which  tell  us  that  the  stumps  are  bundles  of 
cunningly  folded  material  reduced  to  their 
smallest  volume. 

The  expansion  begins  near  the  shoulder. 
Where  at  first  nothing  definite  was  to  be 
distinguished,  we  soon  see  a  diaphanous  area 
subdivided  into  meshes  of  exquisite  pre- 
cision. Little  by  little,  with  a  slowness  that 
defies  observation  even  through  the  magnify- 
ing-glass,  this  area  increases  in  extent  at  the 
expense  of  the  shapeless  terminal  roll.  My 
eyes  linger  in  vain  on  the  confines  of  the  two 
portions,  the  roll  developing  and  the  gauze 
already  developed:  I  see  nothing,  see  no 
more  than  I  should  see  in  a  sheet  of  water. 
But  wait  a  moment;  and  the  tissue  of  squares 
stands  out  with  perfect  clearness. 

If  we  judged  only  by  this  first  examina- 
tion, we  should  really  think  that  an  organ- 
414 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

izable  fluid  is  abruptly  congealing  into  a 
network  of  nervures;  we  should  imagine  that 
we  were  in  the  presence  of  a  crystallization 
similar,  in  its  suddenness,  to  that  of  a  saline 
solution  on  the  slide  of  a  microscope.  Well, 
no :  things  cannot  be  actually  happening  like 
that.  Life  does  not  perform  its  tasks  so 
hastily. 

I  detach  a  half-developed  wing  and  turn 
the  powerful  eye  of  the  microscope  upon  it. 
This  time  I  am  satisfied.  On  the  confines 
where  the  network  seemed  to  be  gradually 
woven,  that  network  was  really  in  existence. 
I  can  plainly  see  the  longitudinal  nervures, 
already  thick  and  strong;  and  I  can  also  see, 
pale,  it  is  true,  and  without  relief,  the  cross- 
bars. I  find  them  all  in  the  terminal  roll, 
of  which  I  succeed  in  unfolding  a  few  strips. 

It  is  obvious.  The  wing  is  not  at  this  mo- 
ment a  fabric  on  the  loom,  through  which 
the  procreative  energies  are  driving  their 
shuttle ;  it  is  a  fabric  already  completed.  All 
that  it  lacks  to  be  perfect  is  expansion  and 
stiffness,  even  as  our  linen  needs  only  starch- 
ing and  ironing. 

The  flattening  out  is  finished  in  three  hours 
or  more.  The  wings  and  wing-cases  stand 
up  on  the  Locust's  back  like  a  huge  set  of 
415 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

sails,  sometimes  colourless,  sometimes  pale- 
green,  as  are  the  Cicada's  wings  at  the  be- 
ginning. We  are  amazed  at  their  size  when 
we  think  of  the  paltry  bundles  that  repre- 
sented them  at  first.  How  did  so  much  stuff 
manage  to  find  room  there ! 

The  fairy-tales  tell  us  of  a  grain  of  hemp- 
seed  that  contained  the  underlinen  of  a  prin- 
cess. Here  is  a  grain  that  is  even  more 
astonishing.  The  one  in  the  story  took 
years  and  years  to  sprout  and  multiply  and 
at  last  to  yield  the  quantity  of  hemp  required 
for  the  trousseau;  the  Locust's  supplies  a 
sumptuous  set  of  sails  in  a  short  space  of 
time. 

Slowly  the  proud  crest,  standing  erect  in 
four  straight  blades,  acquires  consistency 
and  colour.  The  latter  turns  the  requisite 
shade  on  the  following  day.  For  the  first 
time  the  wings  fold  like  a  fan  and  lie  in  their 
places ;  the  wing-cases  lower  their  outer  edge 
and  form  a  gutter  which  falls  over  the  sides. 
The  transformation  is  finished.  All  that  re- 
mains for  the  big  Locust  to  do  is  to  harden 
his  tissues  still  further  and  to  darken  the  grey 
of  his  costume  while  revelling  in  the  sun. 
Let  us  leave  him  to  enjoy  himself  and  re- 
trace our  steps  a  little. 
416 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

The  four  stumps,  which  issued  from  their 
sheaths  shortly  after  the  corselet  split  its 
keel  down  the  middle,  contain,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  wings  and  wing-cases,  with  their  net- 
work of  nervures.  This  network,  if  not  per- 
fect, has  at  least  the  general  plan  of  its 
numberless  details  mapped  out.  To  unfurl 
these  poor  bundles  and  convert  them  into 
generous  sails,  it  is  enough  that  the  organ- 
ism, acting  in  this  case  like  a  forcing-pump, 
should  shoot  a  stream  of  humours,  which 
have  been  kept  in  reserve  for  this  moment, 
the  hardest  of  all,  into  the  little  channels 
already  prepared  for  their  reception.  With 
the  channel  marked  out  in  advance,  a  slight 
injection  is  sufficient  to  explain  the  rapid 
spread. 

But  what  were  the  four  strips  of  gauze 
while  still  contained  in  their  sheaths?  Are 
the  wings  spatules  and  the  three-cornered 
pinions  of  the  larva  moulds  whose  creases, 
corners  and  sinuosities  shape  their  contents 
in  their  own  image  and  weave  the  tissues  of 
the  future  wing  and  wing-case?  If  we  had 
to  do  with  a  real  instance  of  moulding,  our 
brains  could  call  a  halt.  We  should  say 
to  ourselves  that  it  was  quite  simple  for  the 
thing  moulded  to  correspond  with  the  shape 
417 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

of  the  mould.  But  our  halt  would  be  short- 
lived, for  the  mould  in  its  turn  would  want 
explaining:  we  should  have  to  seek  for  a 
solution  of  its  infinite  intricacies.  Let  us  not 
go  so  far  back;  we  should  be  utterly  in  the 
dark.  Let  us  rather  keep  to  facts  that  can 
be  observed. 

I  examine  through  the  magnifying-glass  a 
pinion  of  a  larva  ripe  for  transformation.  I 
see  a  bundle  of  fairly  thick  nervures  radi- 
ating fanwise.  Other  nervures,  paler  and 
finer,  are  set  in  the  intermediate  spaces. 
Lastly,  the  fabric  is  completed  by  a  number 
of  very  short  transversal  lines,  more  delicate 
still  and  chevron-shaped. 

This,  no  doubt,  gives  a  rough  outline  of 
the  future  wing-case;  but  how  different 
from  the  mature  structure!  The  arrange- 
ment of  the  radiating  nervures,  the  skeleton 
of  the  edifice,  is  not  at  all  the  same;  the  net- 
work formed  by  the  transversal  veins  in  no 
way  suggests  the  complicated  pattern  which 
we  shall  see  later.  The  rudimentary  is 
about  to  be  succeeded  by  the  infinitely  com- 
plex, the  crude  by  the  exquisitely  perfect. 
The  same  remark  applies  to  the  wing-spatule 
and  its  outcome,  the  final  wing. 

It  is  quite  evident,  when  we  have  the  pre- 
418 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

paratory  and  the  ultimate  stage  before  our 
eyes  at  the  same  time :  the  larva's  pinion  is 
not  merely  a  mould  which  elaborates  the  ma- 
terial in  its  own  image  and  shapes  the  wing- 
case  upon  the  model  of  its  hollow.  No,  the 
membrane  which  we  are  expecting  is  not  yet 
inside  in  the  form  of  a  bundle  which,  when 
unfurled,  will  astonish  us  with  the  size  and 
the  extreme  complexity  of  its  texture.  Or, 
to  be  accurate,  it  is  there,  but  in  a  potential 
state.  Before  becoming  a  real  thing,  it  is 
a  virtual  thing,  which  is  nothing  as  yet,  but 
which  is  capable  of  becoming  something.  It 
is  there  just  as  much  as  the  oak  is  inside  its 
acorn. 

A  fine,  transparent  rim  binds  the  free  edge 
both  of  the  embryo  wing  and  the  embryo 
wing-case.  Under  a  powerful  lens  we  can 
see  a  few  uncertain  outlines  of  the  future 
lacework.  This  might  well  be  the  factory 
in  which  life  intends  to  set  its  materials 
going.  There  is  nothing  else  visible,  nothing 
to  suggest  the  prodigious  network  whose 
every  mesh  will  shortly  have  its  form  and 
place  determined  for  it  with  geometrical 
precision. 

There  must  therefore  be  something  better 
and  greater  than  a  mould  to  make  the  or- 
419 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

ganizable  matter  shape  itself  into  a  sheet 
of  gauze  and  describe  the  inextricable  laby- 
rinth of  the  nervation.  There  is  a  primary 
plan,  an  ideal  pattern  which  assigns  to  each 
atom  its  precise  place.  Before  the  matter 
begins  to  move,  the  configuration  is  already 
virtually  traced,  the  courses  of  the  plastic 
currents  are  already  marked  out.  The 
stones  of  our  buildings  are  arranged  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  architect's  considered  plan ; 
they  form  an  ideal  assemblage  before  exist- 
ing as  a  real  assemblage.  Similarly,  a  Lo- 
cust's wing,  that  sumptuous  piece  of  lace 
emerging  from  a  miserable  sheath,  speaks  to 
us  of  another  Architect,  the  Author  of  the 
plans  which  life  must  follow  in  its  labours. 

The  genesis  of  living  creatures  offers  to 
our  contemplation,  in  an  infinity  of  ways, 
marvels  far  greater  than  those  of  the 
Acridian;  but  generally  they  pass  unper- 
ceived,  overshadowed  as  they  are  by  the  veil 
of  time.  The  lapse  of  years,  with  its  slow 
mysteries,  robs  us  of  the  most  astonishing 
spectacles,  unless  our  minds  be  endowed  with 
a  stubborn  patience.  Here,  by  exception, 
things  take  place  with  a  swiftness  that  arrests 
even  a  wavering  attention. 

He  who  would,  without  wearisome  delays, 
420 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

catch  a  glimpse  of  the  inconceivable  dex- 
terity with  which  life  does  its  work  has  but 
to  go  to  the  great  Locust  of  the  vines.  The 
insect  will  show  him  that  which,  with  their 
extreme  slowness,  the  sprouting  seed,  the 
budding  leaf  and  the  blossoming  flower  hide 
from  our  curiosity.  We  cannot  see  a  blade 
of  grass  grow;  but  we  can  easily  witness  the 
growth  of  a  Locust's  wings  and  wing-cases. 
We  stand  astounded  at  this  sublime  phan- 
tasmagoria of  a  grain  of  hemp-seed  which  in 
a  few  hours  becomes  a  superb  piece  of  linen. 
What  a  proud  artist  is  life,  driving  its  shuttle 
to  weave  the  wings  of  a  Locust,  one  of  those 
insignificant  insects  of  which  Pliny,  long  ago 
said: 

"  In  his  tarn  parvis,  fere  nullis,  qua  vis, 
qua  sapientia,  quam  inextricabilis  per- 
fectisf" 

How  well  the  old  naturalist  was  inspired 
on  this  occasion!  Let  us  repeat  after  him: 

"  What  power,  what  wisdom,  what  inde- 
scribable perfection  in  the  tiny  corner  of  life 
which  the  Locust  of  the  vines  has  shown  us !  " 

I  have  heard  that  a  learned  enquirer,  to 
whom  life  was  but  a  conflict  of  physical  and 
421 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

chemical  forces,  did  not  despair  of  one  day 
obtaining  artificial  organizable  matter:  pro- 
toplasm, as  the  official  jargon  has  it.  Were 
it  in  my  power,  I  should  hasten  to  satisfy 
this  ambitious  person. 

Very  well,  be  it  so :  you  have  thoroughly 
prepared  your  protoplasm.  By  dint  of  long 
hours  of  meditation,  deep  study,  scrupulous 
care  and  inexhaustible  patience,  your  wishes 
have  been  fulfilled;  you  have  extracted  from 
your  apparatus  an  albuminous  glair,  which 
goes  bad  easily  and  stinks  like  the  very  devil 
in  a  few  days'  time :  in  short,  filth.  What 
do  you  propose  to  do  with  your  product? 

Will  you  organize  it?  Will  you  give  it 
the  structure  of  a  living  edifice?  Will  you 
take  a  hypodermic  syringe  and  inject  it  be- 
tween two  impalpable  films  to  obtain  were 
it  only  the  wing  of  a  Gnat? 

For  that  is  more  or  less  what  the  Locust 
does.  He  injects  his  protoplasm  between 
the  two  scales  of  the  pinion;  and  the  ma- 
terial becomes  a  wing-case,  because  it  finds 
as  a  guide  the  ideal  archetype  of  which  I 
spoke  just  now.  It  is  controlled  in  its  in- 
tricate windings  by  a  plan  which  existed 
before  the  injection,  before  the  material 
itself. 

422 


The  Locusts:  the  last  Moult 

Have  you  this  archetype,  this  coordinator 
of  forms,  this  primordial  regulator,  at  the 
end  of  your  syringe?  No?  Then  throw 
away  your  product !  No  life  will  ever  spring 
from  that  chemical  ordure. 


423 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   FOAMY   CICADELLA 

IN  April,  when  the  Swallow  and  the 
Cuckoo  visit  us,  let  us  consider  the  fields 
for  a  while,  keeping  our  eyes  on  the  ground, 
as  befits  the  eager  observer  of  insect-life. 
We  shall  not  fail  to  see,  here  and  there,  on 
the  grass,  little  masses  of  white  foam.  It 
might  easily  be  taken  for  a  spray  of  frothy 
spittle  from  the  lips  of  a  passer-by;  but  there 
is  so  much  of  it  that  we  soon  abandon  this 
first  idea.  Never  would  human  saliva  suffice 
for  so  lavish  an  expenditure  of  foam,  even 
if  some  one  with  nothing  better  to  do  were 
to  devote  all  his  disgusting  and  misdirected 
zeal  to  the  effort. 

While  recognizing  that  man  is  blameless 
in  the  matter,  the  northern  peasant  has  not 
relinquished  the  name  suggested  by  the  ap- 
pearance: he  calls  those  strange  flakes 
"  Cuckoo-spit,"  after  the  bird  whose  note  is 
then  proclaiming  the  awakening  of  spring. 
424 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

The  vagrant  creature,  unequal  to  the  toils  and 
delights  of  housekeeping,  ejects  it  at  random, 
so  they  say,  as  it  pays  its  flying  visits  to  the 
homes  of  others,  in  search  of  a  resting-place 
for  its  egg. 

The  interpretation  does  credit  to  the 
Cuckoo's  salivary  powers,  but  not  to  the  in- 
terpreter's intelligence.  The  other  popular 
denomination  is  worse  still:  "Frog-spit!" 
My  dear  good  people,  what  on  earth  has  the 
Frog  or  his  slaver  to  do  with  it?  1 

The  shrewder  Provencal  peasant  also 
knows  that  vernal  foam;  but  he  is  too  cau- 
tious to  give  it  any  wild  names.  My  rustic 
neighbours,  when  I  ask  them  about  Cuckoo- 
spit  and  Frog-spit,  begin  to  smile  and  see 
nothing  in  those  words  but  a  poor  joke.  To 
my  questions  on  the  nature  of  the  thing  they 
reply: 

"  I  don't  know." 

Exactly!  That's  the  sort  of  answer  I  like, 
an  answer  not  complicated  with  grotesque 
explanations. 

Would  you  know  the  real  perpetrator  of 
this  spittle?  Rummage  about  the  frothy 

1  Kirby     and     other     English     naturalists     refer     to 
Aphrophora    spumaria    as    the    Frothy    Froghopper;    but 
this   is   rather   because  the   insect's  outline   and   hopping- 
powers  suggest  those  of  a  Frog. — Translator's  Note. 
425 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

mass  with  a  straw.  You  will  extract  a  little 
yellow,  pot-bellied,  dumpy  creature,  shaped 
like  a  Cicada  without  wings.  That's  the 
foam-producer. 

When  laid  naked  on  another  leaf,  she 
brandishes  the  pointed  tip  of  her  little  round 
paunch.  This  at  once  betrays  the  curious 
machine  which  we  shall  see  at  work  presently. 
When  older  and  still  operating  under  the 
cover  of  its  foam,  the  little  thing  becomes  a 
nymph,  turns  green  in  colour  and  gives  itself 
stumps  of  wings  fixed  scarfwise  on  its  sides. 
From  underneath  its  blunted  head  there  pro- 
jects, when  it  is  working,  a  little  gimlet,  a 
beak  similar  to  that  of  the  Cicadae. 

In  its  adult  form  the  insect  is,  in  fact,  a 
sort  of  very  small-sized  Cicada,  for  which 
reason  the  entomologist  capable  of  shaking 
off  the  trammels  of  nonsensical  nomencla- 
ture calls  it  simply  the  Foamy  Cicadella. 
For  this  euphonic  name,  the  diminutive  of 
Cicada,  the  others  have  substituted  that  hor- 
rible word  Aphrophora.  Orthodox  science 
says,  Aphrophora  spumaria,  meaning  Foamy 
Foambearer.  The  ear  is  none  the  better 
for  this  improvement.  Let  us  content  our- 
selves with  Cicadella,  which  respects  the 
tympanum  and  does  not  reduplicate  the  foam. 
426 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

I  have  consulted  my  few  books  as  to  the 
habits  of  the  Cicadella.  They  tell  me  that 
she  punctures  plants  and  makes  the  sap 
exude  in  foamy  flakes.  Under  this  cover, 
the  insect  lives  sheltered  from  the  heat.  A 
work  recently  compiled  has  one  curious  piece 
of  information :  it  tells  me  that  I  must  get 
up  early  in  the  morning,  inspect  my  crops, 
pick  any  twig  with  foam  on  it  and  at  once 
plunge  it  into  a  cauldron  of  boiling  water. 

Oh,  my  poor  Cicadella,  this  is  a  bad  look- 
out !  The  author  does  not  do  things  by 
halves.  I  see  him  rising  before  the  dawn, 
lighting  a  stove  on  wheels  and  pushing  his 
infernal  contrivance  through  the  midst  of  his 
lucern,  his  clover  and  his  peas,  to  boil  you 
on  the  spot.  He  will  have  his  work  cut  out 
for  him.  I  remember  a  certain  patch  of 
sainfoin  of  which  almost  every  stalk  had  its 
foam-flakes.  Had  the  stewing-process  been 
necessary,  one  might  just  as  well  have  reaped 
the  field  and  turned  the  whole  crop  into  herb- 
tea. 

Why  these  violent  measures?  Are  you  so 
very  dangerous  to  the  harvest,  my  pretty 
little  Cicada?  They  accuse  you  of  draining 
the  plant  which  you  attack.  Upon  my  word, 
they  are  right :  you  drain  it  almost  as  dry  as 
427 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  Flea  does  the  Dog.  But  to  touch  an- 
other's grass — you  know  it :  doesn't  the  fable 
say  so  ? — is  a  heinous  crime,  an  offence  which 
can  be  punished  by  nothing  less  drastic  than 
boiling  water. 

Let  us  waste  no  more  time  on  these  agri- 
cultural entomologists  with  their  murderous 
designs.  To  hear  them  talk,  one  would 
think  that  the  insect  has  no  right  to  live. 
Incapable  of  behaving  like  a  ferocious  land- 
owner who  becomes  filled  with  thoughts  of 
massacre  at  the  sight  of  a  maggoty  plum,  I, 
more  kindly,  abandon  my  few  rows  of  peas 
and  beans  to  the  Cicadella:  she  will  leave 
me  my  share,  I  am  convinced. 

Besides,  the  insignificant  ones  of  the  earth 
are  not  the  least  rich  in  talent,  in  an  orig- 
inality of  invention  which  will  teach  us  much 
concerning  the  infinite  variety  of  instinct. 
The  Cicadella,  in  particular,  possesses  her 
recipes  for  aerated  waters.  Let  us  ask  her 
by  what  process  she  succeeds  in  giving  such 
a  fine  head  of  froth  to  her  product,  for  the 
books  that  talk  about  boiling  cauldrons  and 
Cuckoo-spit  are  silent  on  this  subject,  the 
only  one  worthy  of  narration. 

The  foamy  mass  has  no  very  definite  shape 
and  is  hardly  larger  than  a  hazel-nut.  It  is 
428 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

remarkably  persistent  even  when  the  insect 
is  not  working  at  it  any  longer.  Deprived 
of  its  manufacturer,  who  would  not  fail  to 
keep  it  going,  and  placed  on  a  watch-glass,  it 
lasts  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours  with- 
out evaporating  or  losing  its  bubbles.  This 
persistency  is  striking,  compared  with  the 
rapidity  with  which  soapsuds,  for  instance, 
disappear. 

Prolonged  duration  of  the  foam  is  neces- 
sary to  the  Cicadella,  who  would  exhaust 
herself  in  the  constant  renewal  of  her  pro- 
ducts if  her  work  were  ordinary  froth.  Once 
the  effervescent  covering  is  obtained,  it  is 
essential  that  the  insect  should  rest  for  a 
time,  with  no  other  task  than  to  drink  its  fill 
and  grow.  And  so  the  moisture  converted 
into  froth  possesses  a  certain  stickiness,  con- 
ducive to  longevity.  It  is  slightly  oily  and 
trickles  under  one's  finger  like  a  weak  solu- 
tion of  gum. 

The  bubbles  are  small  and  even,  being  all 
of  the  same  dimensions.  You  can  see  that 
they  have  been  scrupulously  gauged,  one  by 
one ;  you  suspect  the  presence  of  a  graduated 
tube.  Like  our  chemists  and  druggists,  the 
insect  must  have  its  drop-measures. 

A  single  Cicadella  is  usually  crouching  in- 
429 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

visible  in  the  depths  of  the  foam;  sometimes 
there  are  two  or  three  or  more.  In  such 
cases,  it  is  a  fortuitous  association,  the 
fabrics  of  the  several  workers  being  so  close 
together  that  they  merge  into  one  common 
edifice. 

Let  us  see  the  work  begin  and,  with  the 
aid  of  a  magnifying-glass,  follow  the  crea- 
ture's proceedings.  With  her  sucker  in- 
serted up  to  the  hilt  and  her  six  short  legs 
firmly  fixed,  the  Cicadella  remains  motion- 
less, flat  on  her  stomach  on  the  long-suffering 
leaf.  You  expect  to  see  froth  issuing  from 
the  edge  of  the  well,  effervescing  under  the 
action  of  the  insect's  implement,  whose 
lancets,  ascending  and  descending  in  turns 
and  rubbing  against  each  other  like  those 
of  the  Cicada,  ought  to  make  the  sap  foam 
as  it  is  forced  out.  The  froth,  so  it  would 
seem,  must  come  ready-made  from  the  punc- 
ture. That  is  what  the  current  descriptions 
of  the  Cicadella  tell  us;  that  was  how  I  my- 
self pictured  it  on  the  authority  of  the 
writers.  All  this  is  a  huge  mistake :  the  real 
thing  is  much  more  ingenious.  It  is  a  very 
clear  liquid  that  comes  up  from  the  well, 
with  no  more  trace  of  foam  than  in  a  dew- 
drop.  Even  so  the  Cicada,  who  possesses 
430 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

similar  tools,  makes  the  spot  at  which  she 
slakes  her  thirst  give  forth  a  limpid  fluid, 
with  not  a  vestige  of  froth  to  it.  There- 
fore, notwithstanding  its  dexterity  in  sucking 
up  liquids,  the  Cicadella's  mouth-apparatus 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  manufacture  of 
the  foamy  mattress.  It  supplies  the  raw 
material;  another  implement  works  it  up. 
What  implement?  Have  patience  and  we 
shall  see. 

The  clear  liquid  rises  imperceptibly  and 
glides  under  the  insect,  which  at  last  is  half 
inundated.  The  work  begins  again  without 
delay.  To  make  white  of  egg  into  a  froth 
we  have  two  methods:  we  can  whip  it,  thus 
dividing  the  sticky  fluid  into  thin  flakes  and 
causing  it  to  take  in  air  in  a  network  of 
cells;  or  we  can  blow  into  it  and  so  inject 
air-bubbles  right  into  the  mass.  Of  these 
two  methods,  the  Cicadella  employs  the  sec- 
ond, which  is  less  violent  and  more  elegant. 
She  blows  her  froth. 

But  how  is  the  blowing  done  ?  The  insect 
seems  incapable  of  it,  being  devoid  of  any 
air-mechanism  similar  to  that  of  the  lungs. 
To  breathe  with  tracheae  and  to  blow  like 
a  bellows  are  incompatible  actions. 

Agreed;  but  be  sure  that,  if  the  insect 
431 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

needs  a  blast  of  air  for  its  manufactures,  the 
blowing-machine  will  be  there,  most  inge- 
niously contrived.  This  machine  the  Cica- 
della  possesses  at  the  tip  of  her  abdomen,  at 
the  end  of  the  intestine.  Here,  split  length- 
wise in  the  shape  of  a  Y,  a  little  pocket  opens 
and  shuts  in  turns,  a  pocket  whose  two  lips 
close  hermetically  when  joined. 

Having  said  this,  let  us  watch  the  per- 
formance. The  insect  lifts  the  tip  of  its 
abdomen  out  of  the  bath  in  which  it  is  swim- 
ming. The  pocket  opens,  sucks  in  the  air 
of  the  atmosphere  till  it  is  full,  then  closes 
and  dives  down,  the  richer  by  its  prize.  In- 
side the  liquid,  the  apparatus  contracts. 
The  captive  air  escapes  as  from  a  nozzle 
and  produces  a  first  bubble  of  froth.  Forth- 
with the  air-pocket  returns  to  the  upper  air, 
opens,  takes  in  a  fresh  load  and  goes  down 
again  closed,  to  immerse  itself  once  more 
and  blow  in  its  gas.  A  new  bubble  is  pro- 
duced. 

And  so  it  goes  on  with  chronometrical 
regularity,  from  second  to  second,  the  blow- 
ing-machine swinging  upwards  to  open  its 
valve  and  fill  itself  with  air,  downwards  to 
dive  into  the  liquid  and  send  out  its  gaseous 
contents.  Such  is  the  air-measurer,  the  drop- 
432 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

glass  which  accounts  for  the  evenness  of  the 
frothy  bubbles. 

Ulysses,  the  favourite  of  the  gods,  re- 
ceived from  the  storm-dispenser,  ^olus, 
bags  in  which  the  winds  were  confined.  The 
carelessness  of  his  crew,  who  untied  the  bags 
to  find  out  what  they  contained,  let  loose  a 
tempest  which  destroyed  the  fleet.  I  have 
seen  those  mythological  wind-filled  bags;  I 
saw  them  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  child. 

A  peripatetic  tinker,  a  son  of  Calabria, 
had  set  up  between  two  stones  the  crucible 
in  which  a  tin  soup-tureen  and  plates  were 
to  be  remelted.  ^Eolus  did  the  blowing, 
^Eolus  in  the  person  of  a  little  dark- 
skinned  boy  who,  squatting  on  his  heels, 
forced  air  towards  the  forge  by  alter- 
nately squeezing  two  goatskin  bags,  one  on 
the  right  and  one  on  the  left.  Thus  must 
the  prehistoric  bronze-smelters  have  per- 
formed their  task,  they  whose  workshops  and 
whose  remains  of  copper-slag  I  find  on  the 
hills  near  my  home :  the  blast  of  their  fur- 
naces was  produced  by  these  inflated  skins. 

The  machine  employed  by  my  ^Eolus  is 

pathetically  simple.     The  hide  of  a  goat, 

with  the  hair  left  on,  is  practically  all  that 

is  necessary.     It  is  a  bag  fastened  at  the 

433 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

bottom  over  a  nozzle,  open  at  the  top  and 
supplied,  by  way  of  lips,  with  two  little 
boards  which,  when  brought  together,  close 
up  the  whole  apparatus.  These  two  stiff 
lips  are  each  furnished  with  a  leather  handle, 
one  for  the  thumb,  the  other  for  the  four 
remaining  fingers.  The  hand  opens;  the  lips 
of  the  bag  part  and  it  fills  with  air.  The 
hand  closes  and  brings  the  boards  together; 
the  air  imprisoned  in  the  compressed  bag 
escapes  by  the  nozzle.  The  alternate  work- 
ing of  the  two  bags  gives  a  continuous  blast. 

Apart  from  continuity,  which  is  not  a 
favourable  condition  when  the  gas  has  to 
be  discharged  in  small  bubbles,  the  Cica- 
della's  bellows  works  like  the  Calabrian 
tinker's.  It  is  a  flexible  pocket  with  stiff  lips, 
which  alternately  part  and  unite,  opening  to 
let  the  air  enter  and  closing  to  keep  it  im- 
prisoned. The  contraction  of  the  sides  takes 
the  place  of  the  shrinking  of  the  bag  and 
puffs  out  the  gaseous  contents  when  the 
pocket  is  immersed. 

He  certainly  had  a  lucky  inspiration  who 
first  thought  of  confining  the  wind  in  a  bag, 
as  mythology  tells  us  that  ^Eolus  did.  The 
goatskin  turned  into  a  bellows  gave  us  our 
metals,  the  essential  matter  whereof  our 

434 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

tools  are  made.  Well,  in  this  art  of  expelling 
air,  an  enormous  source  of  progress,  the  Ci- 
cadella was  the  pioneer.  She  was  blowing 
her  froth  before  Tubalcain  thought  of 
urging  the  fire  of  his  forge  with  a  leather 
pouch.  She  was  the  first  to  invent  bellows. 

When,  bubble  by  bubble,  the  foamy  wrap- 
per covers  the  insect  to  a  height  which  the 
uplifted  tip  of  her  belly  is  unable  to  reach, 
it  is  no  longer  possible  to  take  in  air  and 
the  effervescence  stops.  Nevertheless,  the 
gimlet  that  extracts  the  sap  goes  on  working, 
for  nourishment  must  be  obtained.  As  a 
rule  then,  in  the  sloping  part,  the  superfluous 
liquid,  that  which  is  not  converted  into  foam, 
collects  and  forms  a  drop  of  perfectly  clear 
liquid. 

What  does  this  limpid  fluid  lack  in  order 
to  turn  white  and  effervesce?  Nothing  but 
air  blown  into  it,  one  would  think.  I  am 
able  to  substitute  my  own  devices  for  the 
Cicadella's  syringe.  I  place  between  my  lips 
a  very  slender  glass  tube  and  with  delicate 
puffs  send  my  breath  into  the  drop  of 
moisture.  To  my  great  surprise,  it  does  not 
froth  up.  The  result  is  just  the  same  as  that 
which  I  should  have  with  plain  water  from 
the  tap. 

435 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

Instead  of  a  plentiful,  lasting,  slow-sub- 
siding foam,  like  that  with  which  the  insect 
covers  itself,  all  that  I  obtain  is  a  miserable 
ring  of  bubbles,  which  burst  as  soon  as  they 
appear.  And  I  am  equally  unsuccessful  with 
the  liquid  which  the  Cicadella  collects  under 
her  abdomen  at  the  start,  before  working 
her  bellows.  What  is  wrong  in  each  case? 
The  foamy  product  and  its  generating  liquid 
shall  tell  us. 

The  first  is  oily  to  the  touch,  gummy  and 
as  fluid  as,  for  instance,  a  weak  solution  of 
albumen  would  be ;  the  second  flows  as  read- 
ily as  plain  water.  The  Cicadella  therefore 
does  not  draw  from  her  well  a  liquid  liable 
to  effervesce  merely  by  the  action  of  the  blow- 
pocket;  she  adds  something  to  what  oozes 
from  the  puncture,  adds  a  viscous  element 
which  gives  cohesion  and  makes  frothing  pos- 
sible, even  as  a  boy  adds  soap  to  the  water 
which  he  blows  into  iridescent  bubbles 
through  a  straw. 

Where  then  does  the  insect  keep  its  soap- 
works,  its  manufactory  of  the  effervescent 
element?  Evidently  in  the  blow-pocket  itself. 
It  is  here  that  the  intestine  ends  and  here 
that  albuminous  products,  furnished  either 
by  the  digestive  canal  or  by  special  glands, 
436 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

can  be  expelled  in  infinitesimal  doses.  Each 
whiff  sent  out  is  thus  accompanied  by  a  trifle 
of  adhesive  matter,  which  dissolves  in  the 
water,  making  it  sticky  and  enabling  it  to 
retain  the  captive  air  in  permanent  bubbles. 
The  Cicadella  covers  herself  with  an  icing  of 
which  her  intestine  is  to  some  extent  the 
manufacturer. 

This  method  brings  us  back  to  the  industry 
of  the  lily-dweller,  the  grub  which  makes 
itself  a  loathsome  armour  out  of  its  excre- 
tions ; x  but  what  a  distance  between  the  heap 
of  ordure  which  it  wears  on  its  back  and  the 
Cicadella's  aerated  mattress ! 

Another  fact,  more  difficult  to  explain, 
attracts  our  attention.  A  multitude  of  low- 
growing,  herbaceous  plants,  whose  sap  starts 
flowing  in  April,  suit  the  frothy  insect, 
without  distinction  of  species,  genus  or 
family.  I  could  almost  make  a  list  of  the 
non-ligneous  vegetation  of  my  neighbourhood 
by  cataloguing  the  plants  on  which  the  little 
creature's  foam  is  to  be  found  in  greater  or 
lesser  abundance.  A  few  experiments  will 
tell  us  how  indifferent  the  Cicadella  is  to  both 

*The  larva  of  the  Lily-beetle    (Crioceris  merdigera}, 
the  essay  on  which  insect  has  not  yet  been  translated  into 
English. — Translator's  Note. 
437 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  nature  and  the  properties  of  the  plant 
which  she  adopts  as  her  home. 

I  pick  the  insect  out  of  its  froth  with  the 
tip  of  a  hair-pencil  and  place  it  on  some 
other  plant,  of  an  opposite  flavour,  letting 
the  strong  come  after  the  mild,  the  spicy 
after  the  insipid,  the  bitter  after  the  sweet. 
The  new  encampment  is  accepted  without 
hesitation  and  soon  covered  with  foam.  For 
instance,  a  Cicadella  taken  from  the  bean, 
which  has  a  neutral  flavour,  thrives  excel- 
lently on  the  spurges,  full  of  pungent  milky 
sap,  and  particularly  on  Euphorbia  serrata, 
the  narrow  notch-leaved  spurge,  which  is  one 
of  her  favourite  dwelling-places.  And  she 
is  equally  satisfied  when  moved  from  the 
highly-spiced  spurge  to  the  comparatively 
flavourless  bean. 

This  indifference  is  surprising  when  we  re- 
flect how  scrupulously  faithful  other  insects 
are  to  their  plants.  There  are  undoubtedly 
stomachs  expressly  made  to  drink  corrosive 
and  assimilate  toxic  matters.  The  caterpillar 
of  Acherontia  atropos,  the  Death's-head 
Hawk-moth,  eats  its  fill  of  potato-leaves, 
which  are  seasoned  with  solanin;  the  cater- 
pillar of  the  Spurge-moth  browses  in  these 
parts  on  the  upright  red  spurge  (Euphorbia 
438 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

characias),  whose  milk  produces  much  the 
same  effect  as  red-hot  iron  on  the  tongue; 
but  neither  one  nor  the  other  would  pass 
from  these  narcotics  or  these  caustics  to  ut- 
terly insipid  fare. 

How  does  the  Cicadella  manage  to  feed 
on  anything  and  everything,  for  she  evi- 
dently obtains  nourishment  while  putting  a 
head  on  her  liquid?  I  see  her  thrive,  either 
of  her  own  accord  or  by  my  devices,  on  the 
common  buttercup  (Ranunculus  acris],  which 
has  a  flavour  unequalled  save  by  Cayenne 
pepper;  on  the  Italian  arum  (Arum  itali- 
ciim),  the  veriest  particle  of  whose  leaves 
is  enough  to  burn  the  lips;  on  the  traveller's 
joy,  or  virgin's  bower  (Clematis  vitalba), 
the  famous  beggars'  herb,  which  reddens  the 
skin  and  produces  the  sores  in  request  among 
our  sham  cripples.  After  these  highly- 
seasoned  condiments,  she  will  promptly  ac- 
cept the  mild  sainfoin,  the  scented  savory, 
the  bitter  dandelion,  the  sweet  field  eringo, 
in  short,  anything  that  I  put  before  her, 
whether  full-flavoured  or  tasteless. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  strange  catho- 
licity of  diet  might  well  be  only  apparent. 
When  the  Cicadella  punctures  this  or  that 
herb,  of  whatever  species,  all  that  she  does 

439 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

is  to  extract  an  almost  neutral  liquid,  just 
as  the  roots  draw  it  from  the  soil;  she  does 
not  admit  to  her  fountain  the  fluids  worked 
up  into  essential  principles.  The  liquid  that 
trickles  forth  under  the  insect's  gimlet  and 
forms  a  bead  at  the  bottom  of  the  foamy 
mass  is  perfectly  clear. 

I  have  gathered  this  drop  on  the  spurge, 
the  arum,  the  clematis  and  the  buttercup.  I 
expected  to  find  a  fire-water,  pungent  as  the 
sap  of  those  different  plants.  Well,  it  is 
nothing  of  the  kind;  it  lacks  all  savour;  it  is 
water  or  little  more.  And  this  insipid  stuff 
has  issued  from  a  reservoir  of  vitriol. 

If  I  prick  the  spurge  with  a  fine  needle, 
that  which  rises  from  the  puncture  is  a  white, 
milky  drop,  tasting  horribly  bitter.  When 
the  Cicadella  pushes  in  her  drill,  a  clear, 
flavourless  fluid  oozes  out.  The  two  opera- 
tions seem  to  be  directed  towards  different 
sources. 

How  does  she  manage  to  draw  a  liquid 
that  is  clear  and  harmless  from  the  same 
barrel  whence  my  needle  brings  up  some- 
thing milky  and  burning?  Can  the  Cica- 
della, with  her  instrument,  that  incompara- 
ble alembic,  divide  the  fierce  fluid  into  two, 
admitting  the  neutral  and  rejecting  the  pep- 
440 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

pery?  Can  she  be  drawing  on  certain  vessels 
whose  sap,  not  yet  elaborated,  has  not  ac- 
quired its  final  virulence?  The  delicate 
vegetable  anatomy  is  helpless  in  the  presence 
of  the  tiny  creature's  pump.  I  give  up  the 
problem. 

When  the  Cicadella  is  exploring  the 
spurge,  as  frequently  happens,  she  has  a  seri- 
ous reason  for  not  admitting  to  her  fountain 
all  that  would  be  yielded  by  simple  bleeding, 
such  as  my  needle  would  produce.  The  milky 
juice  of  the  plant  would  be  fatal  to  her. 

I  gather  a  drop  or  two  of  the  liquid  that 
trickles  from  a  cut  stalk  and  instal  a  Cica- 
della in  it.  The  insect  is  not  comfortable: 
I  can  see  this  by  its  efforts  to  escape.  My 
hair-pencil  pushes  the  fugitive  back  into  the 
pool  of  milk,  rich  in  dissolved  rubber.  Soon 
this  rubber  settles  into  clots  similar  to  crumbs 
of  cheese;  the  insect's  legs  become  clad  in 
gaiters  that  seem  made  of  casein;  a  coating 
of  gum  obstructs  the  breathing-valves;  possi- 
bly also  the  extremely  delicate  skin  is  hurt 
by  the  blistering  qualities  of  the  milky  sap. 
If  kept  for  some  time  in  that  environment, 
the  Cicadella  dies. 

Even  so  would  she  die  if  her  gimlet,  work- 
ing simply  as  a  needle,  brought  the  milk  of 
441 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  spurge  to  the  surface.  A  sifting  takes 
place  then,  which  allows  almost  pure  water 
to  issue  from  the  source  that  gives  the  where- 
withal for  making  the  froth.  A  subtle 
exhaustion-process,  whose  mechanism  is  hid- 
den from  our  curiosity,  a  piston-play  of  un- 
rivalled delicacy,  effects  this  marvellous  work 
of  purification. 

Water  is  always  water,  whether  it  come 
from  the  stagnant  pool  or  the  clear  stream, 
from  a  poisonous  liquid  or  a  healing  infu- 
sion; and  it  possesses  the  same  properties, 
when  it  is  rid  of  its  impurities  by  distillation. 
In  like  manner,  the  sap,  whether  furnished 
by  the  spurge  or  the  bean,  the  clematis  or 
the  sainfoin,  the  buttercup  or  the  borage, 
is  of  the  same  watery  nature  when  the 
Cicadella's  syphon,  by  a  reducing-process 
which  would  be  the  envy  of  our  stills,  has 
deprived  it  of  its  peculiar  properties,  which 
vary  so  greatly  in  different  plants. 

This  would  explain  how  the  insect  makes 
its  froth  rise  on  the  first  plant  that  it  comes 
across.  Everything  suits  it,  because  its  appa- 
ratus reduces  any  sap  to  the  condition  of 
plain  water.  The  inimitable  well-sinker  is 
able  to  produce  the  limpid  from  the  cloudy 
and  the  harmless  from  the  toxic. 
442 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

It  may  possibly  happen  that  the  insect's 
well  supplies  water  that  is  not  quite  pure. 
If  left  to  evaporate  in  a  watch-glass,  the 
clear  drop  that  trickles  from  the  mass  of 
foam  yields  a  thin  white  residue,  which  dis- 
solves by  effervescence  in  nitric  acid.  This 
residue  might  well  be  carbonate  of  potash. 
I  also  suspect  the  presence  of  traces  of 
albumen. 

Obviously,  the  Cicadella  finds  something 
to  feed  on  at  the  bottom  of  the  puncture. 
Now  what  does  she  consume?  To  all  ap- 
pearances, something  with  an  albuminous 
basis,  for  the  pigmy  herself  is,  for  the  most 
part,  but  a  grain  of  similar  matter.  This 
element  is  plentiful  in  all  plants;  and  it  is 
probable  that  the  insect  uses  it  lavishly  to 
make  up  for  the  expenditure  of  gum  needed 
for  the  formation  of  froth.  Some  albu- 
minous product,  perfected  in  the  digestive 
canal  and  discharged  by  the  intestine  as  and 
when  the  blow-pocket  expels  its  bubble  of 
air,  might  well  give  the  liquid  the  power  of 
swelling  into  a  foam  that  lasts  for  a  long 
time. 

If  we  ask  ourselves  what  advantage  the 
Cicadella  derives  from  her  mass  of  froth,  a 
very  excellent  answer  is  at  once  suggested: 

443 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

the  insect  keeps  itself  cool  under  that  shelter, 
hides  itself  from  the  eyes  of  its  persecutors 
and  is  protected  against  the  rays  of  the  sun 
and  the  attacks  of  parasites. 

The  Lily-beetle  makes  a  similar  use  of 
the  mantle  of  her  own  dirt;  but  she,  most 
unhappily  for  herself,  flings  off  her  nasty 
cloak  and  descends  naked  from  the  plant  to 
the  ground,  where  she  has  to  bury  herself 
to  slaver  her  cocoon.  At  this  critical  mo- 
ment, the  Flies  lie  in  wait  for  her  and  en- 
trust her  with  their  eggs,  the  germs  of  para- 
sites which  will  eat  into  her  body. 

The  Cicadella  is  better-advised  and  alto- 
gether escapes  the  dangers  attendant  on  a  re- 
moval. Subject  to  certain  summary  changes 
which  never  interrupt  her  activity,  she  as- 
sumes the  adult  form  in  the  very  heart  of 
her  bastion,  under  the  shelter  of  a  viscous 
rampart  capable  of  repelling  any  assailant. 
Here  she  enjoys  perfect  security  when  the 
difficult  hour  has  come  for  tearing  off  her  old 
skin  and  putting  on  another,  brand-new  and 
more  decorative;  here  she  finds  profound 
peace  for  her  excoriation  and  for  the  dis- 
play of  the  attire  of  a  riper  age. 

The  insect  does  not  leave  its  cool  cover- 
ing until  it  is  grown  up,  when  it  appears  in 

444 


The  Foamy  Cicadella 

the  form  of  a  pretty  little,  brown-striped 
Cicadella.  It  is  then  able  to  take  enormous 
and  sudden  leaps,  which  carry  it  far  from 
the  aggressor;  and  it  leads  an  easy  life,  un- 
troubled by  the  foe. 

Looked  upon  as  a  system  of  defence,  the 
frothy  stronghold  is  indeed  a  magnificent  in- 
vention, much  superior  to  the  squalid  work 
of  the  invader  of  the  lily.  And,  strange  to 
say,  the  system  has  no  imitators  among  the 
genera  most  nearly  allied  to  the  froth- 
blower. 

In  her  larval  form,  the  Asparagus-beetle 
is  victimized  by  the  Fly  because  she  does  not 
follow  the  example  of  her  cousin,  the  Lily- 
beetle,  and  clothe  herself  in  her  own  drop- 
pings. Even  so,  on  the  grass,  on  the  trees 
displaying  their  tender  leaves,  other  Cica- 
dellae  abound,  no  less  exposed  to  danger 
from  the  Warbler  seeking  a  succulent  morsel 
for  his  little  ones;  and,  as  they  draw  out  the 
sap  through  the  punctures  made  by  their 
suckers,  not  one  of  them  thinks  of  making  it 
effervesce.  Yet  they  too  possess  the  elevator- 
pump,  which  they  all  work  in  the  same 
manner;  only  they  do  not  know  how  to  turn 
the  end  of  their  intestine  into  a  bellows. 
Why  not?  Because  instincts  are  not  to  be 

445 


The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper 

acquired.  They  are  primordial  aptitudes, 
bestowed  here  and  denied  there;  time 
cannot  awaken  them  by  a  slow  incubation, 
nor  are  they  decreed  by  any  similarity  of 
organization. 


446 


INDEX 


Acherontia  atropos  (see 
Death's-head  Hawk- 
moth) 

Adder,  122,  125,  206 

/Esop,  6-7 

Agrion,  273 

Alpine  Analota,  231-235, 
238,  299,  373 

Ameles  decolor  (see  Grey 
Mantis) 

Ammonite,  273 

Ammophila  holosericea, 
202-204 

Anacreon,  13 

Analota  alpina  (see  Alpine 
Analota) 

Anianus,  $n 

Anoxia  pilosa,  290 

Ant,  1-2,  4-5,  7,  9-24,  176- 
178,  181,  183,  187-190, 
199,  263,  298,  307,  321- 

323 

Anthidium,  203 
Anthophora,  109 
Anthrax,  100 
Ant-lion,  307 
Aphis,  178 
Aphrophora  spumaria  (see 

Foamy  Cicadella) 
Aristotle,  50-51,  53-55,  366 
Ash  Cicada,  59,  66-75,  80, 

94 


Asparagus-beetle,  445 
Ass,  138,  257 

B 

Badger,  308 
Bat,  201-202 
Bee,  92,  121,  136,  146,  180, 

202,    247,    251,    256 

Beetle    (see    also    the    va- 
rieties), 22,  146,  255-256, 


360 

elk 


Bellot,  M.,  232 

Beranger,  Pierre  Jean  de, 

4«,  13 

Black  Cicada,  59,  73 
Blue-winged    Locust,    214- 

217,    381-383,    389,    397- 

400 
Bolboceras     aallicus,    255- 

256 

Bombyx,  205 
Bordeaux      Cricket,      309- 

310,   345-346 
Buffon,       Georges       Louis 

Leclerc  de,  253 
Bull,  69,  249 
Bull,     the     author's     Dog, 

133-134 

Buprestis,   31-33 
Burying-beetle   (see  Necro- 

phorus) 

Butterfly  (see  also  the  va- 
rieties),    121,     125,     146, 

183,  198-199,256,302-305 


447 


Index 


Cabbage  Butterfly  (fee 
White  Cabbage  Butter- 
fly) 

Cacan    (see  Ash  Cicada) 

Callot,  Jacques,   194 

Caloptenus  italicus  (see 
Italian  Locust) 

Camel,  362 

Capon,  188 

Capricorn,   31-33,  255-256 

Cassida  (see  Tortoise- 
beetle) 

Cat,  3,  140,  196,  282, 

Centipede,  22371 

Century  Co.,  vii 

Cephalopod,  223,  273,  299 

Cerambyx   (see  Capricorn) 

Cetonia,  n,  183 

Chaffinch,   147 

Chalcis,  92,  178 

Chalicodoma,   365 

Chicken,  188 

Chrysomela,  360 

Cicada  (see  also  the  va- 
rieties), vii,  I-H2,  171- 
172,  178,  242,  256,  258- 
259,  263,  268,  276-278, 
287-291,  343-344,  366, 
412,  416,  426-427 

Cicada  atra  (see  Black 
Cicada) 

Cicada  hematodes  (see 
Red  Cicada) 

Cicada  orni  (see  Ash 
Cicada) 

Cicada  plebeia  (see  Com- 
mon Cicada) 

Cicada  Pygmaa  (see 
Pigmy  Cicada) 


Cicada  tomentosa,  73 
Cigale  (see  Cicada) 
Cigalon,      Cigaloun      (see 

Cicada   tomentosa} 
Coaltit,  265 
Cockchafer    (see  also  Pine 

Cockchafer),  290 
Cockroach,   287/1 
Cod,  186-187 
Common      Black      Cricket, 

Common      Cricket      (see 

Field  Cricket) 
Common  Cicada,  59-66,  70- 

72,  74-112 
Common  Owl,  282 
Common  Snail,  223 
Conocephalus         mandibu- 

laris,  21477,,  266 
Copris,   255-256 
Crab,  130,  366 
Crab  Spider,  129-136 
Crayfish,   410 
Crested  Lark,  325-326 
Cricket    (see   also   the   va- 
rieties),    vii,     256,     258- 

259,  266,  28771,  295 
Cri-cri  (see  Cricket) 
Crioceris    merdigera     (see 

Lily-beetle) 
Cross  Spider,  120  • 
Crow,   3 
Cuckoo,  424 
Cuckoo-spit      (see     Foamy 

Cicadella) 

Cul-blanc   (see  Wheatear) 
Cuttlefish,  223« 


443 


Daumas,   General   Eugene, 
361 


Index 


Death's-head  Hawk-moth, 
438-439 

Decticus  (see  also  the  va- 
rieties), 121,  123-124, 
266,  287,  296,  299,  314, 
317-318,  327,  329,  336- 
337.  399 

Decticus  albifrons  (see 
White-faced  Decticus) 

Devilkin  (see  Empusa 
pauper ata) 

Diadema,  Epeira  (see 
Cross  Spider) 

Dioscorides,  50,  56 

Dog,  319 

Donkey  (see  Ass) 

Dorbeetle  (see  Geotrupes) 

Double-spotted  Cricket, 
309-310 

Dragon-fly,  121,  225,  273 

Drone,  22 

Drone-fly  (see  Eristalis) 

Dryden,  John,  24977,  34i»> 
35i» 

Dung-beetle,  316,  322 


Earwig,  n,  183,  28771 
Edwards,  Osman,  viii,  20 
Elephant,  53,  273-274 
Empusa     pauperata,     162, 

191-210 

Epeira    (see   also    the   va- 
rieties),  121 
Epeira  diadema  (see  Cross 

Spider) 
Epeira   sericea    (see    Silky 

Epeira) 

Ephippiger  (see  also  Vine 
Ephippiger),  124,  229- 
23°,  232,  327 


Ephippiger      vitium      (see 

Vine  Ephippiger) 
Eristalis,  197 
Eucera,  203 
Euripides,   290/1 
Eyed  Lizard,  363 


Fabre,  Mile.  Marie  Pau- 
line, the  author's  daugh- 
ter, 356-357 

Fabre,  Paul,  the  author's 
son,  356 

Fallow-chat  (see  Wheat- 
ear) 

Fallow-finch  (see  Wheat- 
ear) 

Field  Cricket,  283-284,  300- 
347,  35° 

Field-mouse,  183 

Flea,  102 

Florian,  Jean  Pierre  Claris 
de,  302,  306 

Fly  (see  also  House-fly), 
3,  ii,  22-23,  118,  121, 
146,  179,  183,  199-200, 
256,  263,  444-445. 

Foamy  Cicadella,  vii,  28771, 
424-446 

Fox,  3,  308 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  335 

Frog,  257 

Frog-hopper,  Frog-spit 

(see  Foamy  Cicadella) 

Frothy  Frog-hopper  (see 
Foamy  Cicadella) 


Garden  Spider   (see  Cross 
Spider,  Silky  Epeira) 


449 


Index 


Geotrupes,  27 

Gerard,  Jean  Ignace  Isi- 
dore (see  Grandville) 

Glow-worm,    283 

Gnat,  92-94,  127,  183,  322, 
422 

Goat,  3,  249 

Grandville,  4 

Grasshopper  (see  also 
Green  Grasshopper, 

Ephippiger,  Vine  Ephip- 
piger),  vii,  5«,  8,  80, 
117,  119,  135,  140,  198- 
199,  214,  2i8ra,  224,  229, 
233,  238-241,  245,  256, 
258,  266-271,  277,  282, 
287*1,  327-328,  337,  362- 
363,  365,  370,  379,  392, 
397-399 

Greenfinch,    183 

Green  Fly   (see  Aphis) 

Green  Grasshopper,  228- 
229,  238,  263-265,  275- 
299,  327,  344 

Green  Tree-frog,  80 

Grey  Decticus,  238,  265- 
266 

Grey   Flesh-fly,   245 

Grey  Lizard,  177-178,  181, 
273,  321,  363 

Grey  Locust,  120-121,  124, 
127,  139,  355,  372,  383- 
388,  392,  393H,  395,  401- 
423 

Grey  Mantis,  126-127,  146, 
160-161,  165-166,  173- 
174,  207-208 

Gryllus  bimaculatus  (see 
Double-spotted  Cricket) 

Gryllus  burdigalensis  (see 
Bordeaux  Cricket) 

450 


Gryllus       desertus       (see 

Solitary  Cricket) 
Guinea-fowl,  357-358 

H 

Hare,  300-301 

Harpalus,  360 

Helix  aspersa  (see  Com- 
mon Snail) 

Hen,  358,  383 

Herod  Antipas,  365 

Hive-bee,   130-135 

Horned  Owl  (see  Scops- 
owl) 

Hornet,  22,  183 

House  Cricket,  346 

House-fly,   195-197,   199 

I 

Intermediary          Decticus, 

21471,  265-266 
Italian      Cricket,     283-284, 

346-352 
Italian    Locust,    214^,    355- 

356,      370-372,      379-38i, 

lulus,  360 

J 

Jacotot,   Joseph,   49 

K 
Kirby,  William,  425» 


La  Fontaine,  Jean  de,  3-5, 
7,  263,  300-302,  306 

Lark  (see  also  Crested 
Lark),  189 


Index 


L'Estrange,   Sir  Roger,   $n 

Leucospis,  92,  too 

Libellula  (see  Dragon-fly, 
Meganeura  Monyi) 

Lily-beetle,  437,  444 

Little  Cicada,  Little  Cigale 
(see  Cicada  tomentosa) 

Lizard  (see  Eyed  Lizard, 
Grey  Lizard) 

Locust  (see  also  the  varie- 
ties), vii,  53,  117,  119, 
121,  123-124,  126-130, 
135-136,  138,  141,  163, 
177,  179-180,  187,  189, 
J95»  J99»  206,  211,  214, 
2i8n,  227,  233,  238,  245, 
28771,  353.-4.23 

Locusta  viridissima  (see 
Green  Grasshopper) 

M 

Machato  banarudo  (see 
Scops-owl) 

McKenna,  Stephen,  viii, 
30571 

Mammoth,  248,  273,  368 

Mantis  (see  also  the  varie- 
ties), vii,  28771 

Mantis  religiosa  (see 
Praying  Mantis) 

Matthiolus,   50 

Mattioli,  Pietro  Andrea 
(see  Matthiolus) 

Megalosaurus,   273 

Meganeura  Monyi,  273 

Melolontha  fullo  (see  Pine 
Cockchafer) 

Miall,  Bernard,  vii,  255 

Midge,  179,  181,  337 

Millepede,  224 


Moffett,  Thomas,  169 
Moth   (see  also  the  varie- 
ties), 146,  205 
Moufet  (see  Moffett) 
Mouse,  196 
Muffet   (see  Moffett) 
Myriapod,   22371 

N 

Nautilus,  273 
Necrophorus,  322 
Nightingale,  253-254 


Octopus,  22371,  224 

Odynerus,   203 

(Ecanthus    pellucens     (see 

Italian    Cricket) 
(Edipoda  ccerulescens  (see 

Blue- winged  Locust) 
(Edipoda  miniata,  21471 
Oil-beetle,  100,  180 
Olivier,      Guillaume    'An- 

toine,  73 
Omar,   the   second    Caliph, 

362,  364,  366 
Opatrum,  360 
Owl  (see  the  varieties) 
Ox,  368 


Pachytylus  cinerescens  (see 
Grey  Locust) 

Pachytylus  nigrofasciatus, 
21471,  381-383,  388-389 

Panther,  53 

Partridge  (see  also  Red- 
legged  Partridge),  249, 
364 


Index 


Peacock,  53,  122 
Pedestrian  Locust,  373-377, 

389-390 
Pezotettix     pedestris     (see 

Pedestrian  Locust) 
Phaneroptera  falcata,  266, 

298-299 

Pheasant,   188-189 
Pieris  brassica   (see  White 

Cabbage  Butterfly) 
Pigmy  Cicada,  59,  73-74 
Pine    Cockchafer,    255-256, 

290 
Platycleis  grisea  (see  Grey 

Decticus) 
Platycleis   intermedia    (see 

Intermediary  Decticus) 

Pliny,.  53,  42i 
Pompilus,  ii 
Praying  Mantis,  113-130, 

135-191,      193,      204-210, 

221,   229,    234,   242,    291, 

321,  387,  394 
Prego-Dieu     (see    Praying 

Mantis) 
Pullet,  188 


Quail,  257 


Rabbit,  3,  308 

Rabelais,   Francois,   51,   57 

Ram,  195 

Rassado  (see  Eyed  Lizard) 

Rat,  3 

Reaumur,  Rene  Antoine 
Ferchault  de,  25-26,  58, 
73,  87,  92,  96,  102,  225 


Red  Cicada,  59,  71-72 
Red-legged  Partridge,  358- 

359 

Reindeer,  251 
Rhinoceros,   53 
Ringed      Calicurgus      (see 

Pompilus) 
Rodwell,      Miss     Frances, 

viii 

Rondelet,  Guillaume,  51 
Rose-chafer    (see   Cetonia) 
Rumford,  Benjamin 

Thompson,    Count,    160- 

162 


Saxicola    (see  Wheatear) 

Scolopendra,   223,   299 

Scops-owl,  281-282,  284- 
285 

Sheep,  274,  357,  368 

Silky  Epeira,  120 

Sitaris,   109 

Slug,   183 

Snail  (see  also  Common 
Snail),  249,  296,  360 

Solitary  Cricket,  309-310 

Spanish  Copris  (see 
Copris) 

Sparrow,   87-88,   183 

Sparrow-hawk,  288 

Sphex  (see  also  Yellow- 
winged  Sphex),  ii 

Sphingonotus  ccerulans 

21471 

Spider  (see  also  the  varie- 
ties), 145,  360 

Spurge-moth,  438-439 

Squid,   223/1 

Stone-chat  (see  Wheatear) 

Swallow,  288,  355,  424 


452 


Index 


Swallow-tail,    30371 
Swammerdara,  Jan,   169 

T 

Teixeira  de  Mattos,  Alex- 
ander,    I  IB,     927Z,     IOO7Z, 

10971,    i2o»,    i^6n,    24571, 

25571 

Theocritus,  249 
Thomisus    onustus,    rotun- 

datus  (see  Crab  Spider) 
Thompson,   Benjamin    (see 

Rumford) 
Thrush,  257 
Tiger,  53 
Tiger-beetle,  307 
Tiro-lenffo    (see  Wryneck) 
Toad,  278-285,  339 
Topsell,   Edward,   1697? 
Tortoise-beetle,  360 
Tousserel,   Alphonse,    360 
Tree-frog       (see       Green 

Tree-frog) 
Truxalis        nasuta        (see 

Tryxalis) 
Tryxalis,       120-121,       124, 

2*4">  355,  372,   391-395 
Turkey,  122,  357,  364,  369 


Virgil,  249,  341,  351 
Voltaire,    Francois    Marie 
Arouet  de,  302/1 

W 

Warbler,   183,  257,  445 

Wasp,  ii,  22,  183,  202, 
322 

Weevil,  360 

Wheatear,    360-361 

Whin-chat  (see  Wheat- 
ear) 

White  Cabbage  Butterfly, 
198-200 

White-faced  Decticus,  viii, 
120,  139,  211-274,  293- 
294 

White-tail  (see  Wheatear) 

Wild  Boar,  257 

Wolf,  3,   140,  1 86 

Wood-louse,   183,  360 

Wryneck,    188-189 

X 

Xiphidion,    266 


Vine  Ephippiger,  120,  21471, 
238,  267-272,  294-299 


Yellow-winged  Sphex,  323 


453 


\*. 


.V;v 


** 


